


The Shadowside

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Demisexuality, First Time, Frottage, Gratuitous Mention of Bono, Hand Jobs, Hot Tub, M/M, Medium Burn, Mentor/Protégé, Oral Sex, Past Big Boss/Kazuhira Miller - Freeform, Pining, Selective Disregard For Sushi Etiquette, Switching, Teacher-Student Relationship, Virginity, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-09-24 19:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: After Desert Storm, Solid Snake gets recruited by FOXHOUND, and is sent to a training camp in Alaska. As a FOXHOUND cadet, he becomes infatuated with his Wilderness Survival instructor, Master Miller.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just FYI, I've shifted some things back and forth in the canon timeline a little bit -- not to the extent that this is an AU, but to the point where you'll notice if you are, say, an editor on the Metal Gear wiki or something.

David had always believed that there was a very specific word for soldiers who weren’t interested in learning anything new. For soldiers who believed that they already knew everything they needed to know, and could extrapolate any new insights they would ever need to have from their innate wisdom. For soldiers who, because of these foolish beliefs, were always fighting the last war, always blaming everyone above them and below them for their failures, and who went to their graves not understanding how badly they had betrayed their own men with their ignorance. 

The word for those soldiers was “generals.” 

David had never entertained the idea of one day becoming a general. He couldn’t imagine himself being promoted to that level anyway, couldn’t imagine that any organization he served would want to pull him up out of the dirt that he crawled through so tirelessly and give him a notable rank and useless ribbons to go with it. But even if he were offered such a thing, he would refuse it, knowing where his place was, knowing where he could do the most good, where he could keep moving forward. 

That was why he was willing to subject himself to rookie status once more. Quickly dissatisfied with the challenge that the Army presented him, he’d already started from the bottom to prove himself all over again as a Green Beret, and now, with a war under his belt and a solid reputation, he’d accepted an offer to join FOXHOUND, a branch of special forces that was so secretive, it promised him nothing at all. He trusted the man who had headhunted him, who had assured him that there was no service that he could give the United States, its military, its government, or its people that could match the ways he could serve in FOXHOUND. 

David didn’t think much about what he did, the missions he’d completed, in terms of service to the American people, or to global security, or world peace, or any other lofty concept or vulnerable mass of grateful civilians. Doing so did him no good; he performed better when he thought of each mission as a pure test of his abilities, a challenge simply to live long enough to see the thing through to the end. And the more he lived by this practice – the more he trained himself to see mere survival as the ultimate measure of success and pushed himself to beat the odds – the more he came to revel in the closest brushes with death, to take on the suicide missions. When the offer to join FOXHOUND appeared, David knew that it wasn’t because he was the biggest, the strongest, or the smartest, and certainly not because he was the bravest – any idiot could be brave. It was because David was the most terrifyingly _determined_. 

Arriving at the Alaska FOXHOUND training camp on a chilly day in late spring, David dutifully observed every ritual of rookie life: bunk assignment, orientation, an overwhelmed and cranky quartermaster, getting lost and bumping into strangers, and being utterly clueless about who around the camp could be reasoned with and who an incorrigible asshole. It was a necessary slog, to meet everyone and learn the layout of the camp, get accustomed to the procedures, to fall into the groove of making the stressful seem routine and treating the banal as important. 

But there was one custom that he had not experienced before: permanent codename assignment. It was explained to him that FOXHOUND carried on a tradition of adjective-animal codenames begun nearly thirty years before, in another mysterious organization run by the equally mysterious commander of FOXHOUND. Before the end of the first day, all the new recruits were lined up, with those on either side of David whispering their concern that the codenames were distributed randomly, by dartboard perhaps. They hoped aloud that they did not get something stupid like “Weeping Aardvark.” However, considering his own skills and reputation, David couldn’t help but suspect that there actually was a method to it, when he was told that his name would be Solid Snake.


	2. Chapter 2

Every codename was completely unique; no one else was Solid, and no one else was Snake. But from then on, everyone referred to him only as “Snake;” any fellow cadets who started off calling him “Solid” quickly dropped the habit when they realized that the more experienced soldiers used only second names. 

Along with his name, Snake was handed a schedule, which detailed his classes, his duties, and his designated mealtimes. His daily regimen would include intensive exercise in the morning – that is, standard drilling followed by martial arts techniques and close-quarters combat training; then his classes, which included several hours each week of wilderness survival, free climbing, cryptography, and weapons training; finally, the evenings were when his duty rotation took place. He saw several tasks there that he was used to only seeing used as punishment, cleaning the latrines and so on. For decades, since Korea, the US Army had gradually assigned fewer and fewer soldiers to food and sanitation duties, in favor of employing civilians and third-party nationals. Based on its secrecy, Snake guessed that FOXHOUND wanted the absolute minimum number of outsiders on the base, and that meant sharing those duties among the soldiers. That was fine with him; it kept a person humble. 

At 5 AM the following day, he reported to a clearing in the forest at the edge of the base for morning drills. Recently-felled logs, eighteen inches in diameter and thirty feet long, were lined up on the ground. Snake took his place beside one, and along with four other men; they lifted the log and carried it to the other end of the clearing, then ran back at full speed to pick up another log, and do the same again. He knew that tomorrow they would be hauling the logs back to where they’d picked them up in the first place, and he was fine with that, fine with the pointlessness of it. He preferred the close-quarters training that was scheduled for afterward, where he felt that he was learning new and useful techniques, but maintenance of brute strength and endurance always allowed him to blank his mind, to exist free of thought for a while. 

After several hours in the cold, his first indoor training of the day was, funnily enough, Wilderness Survival. He had at first assumed that this course would also take place outside, rather than a classroom, but perhaps it eventually would be moved out of doors. He took an empty seat, pen and notebook in hand, and had a look at the other recruits. Each wore at least some of the BDUs of their respective branches, usually the fatigue trousers with t-shirts or sweatshirts. He had been expecting to be issued a FOXHOUND uniform of some kind, but was told that it was so likely that cadets would wash out immediately that one might as well not change out of what one already had – you’d probably be back to your old regiment soon enough. He saw another Green Beret or two, a few Marines, a few Seals. Perfect posture all around, and impeccable grooming, everyone having showered up after morning drills. 

Precisely at the top of the hour, the instructor strode into the room. Like most of the instructors that Snake had seen around the base so far, this one dressed in a way that indicated that he was not affiliated with a particular branch of the military. Nothing he wore was precisely regulation, and neither was the cane he walked with. Snake immediately discerned from his walk and from the drape of his left trouser leg that he had a trans-tibial amputation and used a prosthesis. It did not take a particularly perceptive person to notice that his right hand was also a prosthesis. Closer examination of the shape of his sleeve told Snake that all or nearly all of his right arm was bionic – it appeared that the prosthesis was capped to fit over his shoulder. He used the cane for stability, not support, and did not lean on it heavily – it was easy to destroy your back with long-term cane use, but this man had trained himself not to worsen his already compromised bodily integrity with imperfect posture. He looked even taller than he was because he stood so defiantly straight, but that was where his adherence to military standards ended. His blond hair was so ridiculously long it had to be tied back, its ashen streaks giving away his age, as did the deep lines carved from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth. His square jaw, however, remained razor-sharp, and with his eyes obscured by polarized gold aviators, his appearance was formidable, masculine but speaking to a specific way of hip and fashionable aging that baby boomers had begun to adopt out of necessity. 

He addressed the class with a firm but not absurdly booming tenor. “I’m Master Miller and this is Wilderness Survival.” His ambiguous title was the final confirmation for Snake that this man had never held an official military rank, but Master Miller was not the first person he’d encountered on the base whose military background was less than conventional. He was beginning to understand what FOXHOUND was probably about, and he anticipated that more parameters would be revealed after the bulk of the washouts had been taken care of. 

“You’re probably just as disappointed as I am that we’re not starting this course outdoors. I mean, it’s a perfect day for it.” Master Miller gestured toward the window, to the sleet that was now falling outside. “But wilderness survival is just as much about psychology as it is about being able to start a fire without matches or a lighter – although I can assure you, by the time this course is over, you will be able to start a fire with a chocolate bar. However, whenever we’re not in the field, I’ll be providing you with information and techniques of a more conceptual nature. In an ideal world, all of that could be taken care of with a manual to be read on your own time, but I have looked over all of your personnel files, and it turns out some of you muscle-bound jarheads are pretty much functionally illiterate. How you got recruited into FOXHOUND, I do not know. Maybe you’ve got some telekinetic shit going on, or maybe you can launch Patriot missiles with your bare hands. I know you didn’t suck _my_ cock to get here, but beyond that, it’s a mystery.” 

No one else in the room was laughing, which baffled Snake, because he thought Master Miller was hilarious. He had to fight hard to suppress a grin, even though Miller must have known, despite his scowl, that he was being very funny, which no one in the military was encouraged to be, ever. Snake struggled to get over his surprise and pay attention to Miller as he went on: 

“I’m going to be giving you a challenging amount of information whenever we are in this room, and when we get out in the field, you are going to be facing harsh conditions. There won’t be any exams or quizzes in this course. If you don’t listen to me and do exactly what I tell you, you will die in this godforsaken shithole, or some other one halfway around the world; that’s how you’ll be quizzed on this material. And I want to make something very clear to all of you at the beginning of this course: I don’t care if you don’t like me. I don’t care if you slack off. I don’t care if you wash out. And I definitely don’t care if you fuck around in the woods and die. I get paid either way. But know this: if you came here to learn, if you show me that you are willing to do whatever it takes to thrive in inhospitable environments, if you prove that the person who headhunted you for this organization knew what the hell they were doing, then I will do everything in my power to see you succeed. I will help you in whatever way I can to become the most brilliant and unstoppable motherfucker on the planet. That is my promise to you.” 

If Snake thought he was shocked before, now he was about ready to fall out of his chair. All the cold-hearted insults and threats at the beginning, Snake had heard that before from instructors and superior officers, since day one of his military career. But Master Miller’s promise of devotion, that was harder to come by. Snake was accustomed to soldiers for whom ordering men around an obstacle course or barking rote knowledge had become a comfortable routine, who had settled into a cushy life of empty bullying and mindless information transfer. But Snake could bet that while Master Miller would not get paid any less if his students washed out, he would not be paid any _more_ if he committed himself to nurturing someone promising. 

But it wasn’t just that. Miller’s confidently uneven gait and dramatic speeches aside, there was something about this man that was on a different level. It was hard for Snake to put it into words – especially not just then, when he knew that he was supposed to be paying attention. But whoever Master Miller was, wherever he came from, he was already unlike anyone Snake had encountered before. 

“Alright, raise your hand if you have _not_ come here fresh from Desert Storm.” Snake looked around the room, and saw no hands up. That was not a surprise; naturally that operation would have given soldiers like himself a chance to demonstrate their worthiness for an elite organization. “Good,” Miller said, “so we don’t have to worry about the desert shit, you learned all that. That’s why they sent you to Alaska: it’s your reward for spending a year with sand in every orifice and your balls sticking to your leg. We’re gonna focus on cold-weather survival here, but we’ll do some supplementary stuff about jungle environments. If FOXHOUND decides we need to send some poor bastards back to Grenada you’ll get more intensive training on that somewhere else.” Miller turned to pick up a piece of chalk and begin writing on the blackboard. “Today we’re going to start by covering the basics of cold-weather gear, including improvised procurement...”


	3. Chapter 3

Training at FOXHOUND quickly became routine, albeit the most intense routine Snake had ever been subject to. The exercise and weapons drilling was just cranked-up basic training, and often eerily silent; as intelligence agents, the cadets had to learn how to crawl and climb without grunting, how to disassemble, maintain, and reassemble their weapons without clanking. Other times it was the same old ruthless obstacle courses and hollering drill instructors. Either way, it was nothing Snake couldn’t handle. When things were quiet, you could hear a pin drop while he assembled his SOCOM, and when things were noisy, well, he’d heard every nasty combination of expletives a drill sergeant could string together, from being called a “scum-sucking maggot” on the first day of basic to the shrieking threats directed at Green Berets who couldn’t get low enough to the ground during their pre-Desert Storm training: “You’re gonna die over there! You’re gonna fucking die over there!” 

The FOXHOUND instructors ran drills in rotation, so sometimes it was Miller who was berating the cadets. Snake felt strangely conflicted about those days. For some reason, it hurt a little more when it was Miller criticizing his performance, nit-picking his form. But on the other hand, those criticisms were the ones that pushed him the hardest to improve. He wanted to impress Master Miller very badly, or at the very least, he wanted to do so well that Miller would elect to insult another more deserving cadet instead. When Snake hustled out onto the training grounds each morning that Miller was scheduled to be on drill duty, he eagerly craned his neck for his first glimpse of the Master, his first opportunity of the day to win his favor. 

But anyone could run fast or jump high. Snake came to understand, from recognizing blink-and-you’d-miss-them references in his lectures, that Miller was, like him, interested in history and literature. The classroom seemed a far better venue for Snake to attempt to display some sort of impressive behavior or knowledge. 

But Master Miller was a tough man to impress. One day, he came to class with a cooler full of dead fish, explaining that he was going to demonstrate how to clean and gut them, then have each cadet come up to the front and do one themselves. When there was a moment of quiet in his demonstration, Snake said, “_Never thirsty, always drinking, all in mail, never clinking_.” Miller briefly looked in his direction, but said nothing before returning his attention to the fish’s guts. 

One by one, Miller handed each cadet a fish from a cooler, then watched while they worked, commenting for the benefit of the class on what each cadet was doing right or wrong (mostly wrong), waiting to see if the ones who’d picked up a parasite-ridden specimen could spot it. At the end of the class, he remarked on a few superlative performances, for instance who successfully did the task the fastest (he was able to keep track of this without the benefit of a stopwatch), or who wasted the least amount of the fish (he could determine this without using a scale). No one was rewarded, except with his faint praise. 

Snake had not earned one of these superlatives. When he’d been cutting up his trout, Miller had remarked to the class that his cuts demonstrated not just accuracy and efficiency, but _artistry_. Snake’s pulse quickened. But Miller then immediately turned to him and said, “Too bad this isn’t a sushi bar, because then that might actually _mean _something.” 

Rather than fume at what he felt was a failure of a day, Snake only grew more determined to earn Miller’s praise in future exercises. He became obsessed with the idea of impressing Miller. He sometimes tried to picture what Miller’s face might look like, expressing approval. An actual smile seemed too farfetched, but perhaps a softening of the creases between his eyebrows. Snake devoted every waking moment to being the best student he could be, to make his vision a reality. 

For the first few weeks, he thought of this new obsession as being purely professional: of _course_ he would hang on Miller’s every word, of _course_ he would insatiably devour Miller’s wisdom – any smart cadet ought to find themselves captivated by such a venerable instructor, and want to do everything in their power to impress him. FOXHOUND had no doubt chosen Miller for the job because of all the qualities he possessed that would inspire cadets, make them want very badly to struggle and strive and succeed. 

He was so certain, in fact, that everyone held Miller in such high regard as he did that he kept his eyes and ears open at all times, listening for Miller’s name coming from the mouths of his fellow cadets. To his surprise, many of them referred to him as “the Hell Master,” sharing stories about some brutal punishment he had doled out for a minor transgression. Other times they traded rumors about him – this frustrated Snake, as he would have loved to have known more about Miller but knew that all the rumors couldn’t be true – he couldn’t, for example, have lost his limbs in Hanoi, Phnom Penh, San Salvador, _and _Lebanon. What Snake did know was that most of the wrongdoing that the cadets described, that had earned them Miller’s wrath, was some dumb shit they shouldn’t have been doing in the first place, like pulling pranks using the base’s livestock, or inflicting light assault on a fellow cadet (like flicking them in the balls) just before an officer called the room to attention. 

Snake tried listening in on the officers and instructors instead, figuring they would be less inclined towards whining and rumors, but they hardly talked about Master Miller at all. None of them seemed to have known him before FOXHOUND. Twice, Snake overheard Miller’s name mentioned in the same breath as Big Boss, the founder of FOXHOUND who’d recently returned to lead it again, but Snake knew nothing about Big Boss; he’d never seen him. None of the cadets had. Big Boss never came out for inspections, or attended events. Some people doubted he existed; others speculated that he was actually one of the instructors, going undercover to keep a closer eye on his recruits. 

It was funny: Snake had zero curiosity about the legendary and mysterious Big Boss, on the grounds that he was just here to do his job, learn the ropes, start going on missions – but learning anything he could about Master Miller, whom he saw every day and who most cadets would be happy to never encounter again, that was a different story. 

The day arrived, though, when Snake had to admit to himself that there might have been a less lofty element to his fascination with his favorite instructor. He found that over time, the survival class felt like less of an opportunity to learn to save his own life, and more of an opportunity to gaze at Miller with impunity and hang on his every word. It was harder to do that during the drills that Miller ran, when Snake was running laps or crawling on the ground, but when Miller was at the front of the classroom, giving a lecture or a demonstration, everyone was _supposed_ to be staring at him, and Snake looked forward to that every day. The turning point, the pivotal moment when things fell into place for Snake about his own feelings, was when Miller turned away from the class one day to write on the chalkboard, and for the first time, Snake thought to himself that Master Miller had a remarkably round, firm ass for a man his age. 

Once that thought occurred, the rest of it came like an avalanche. Perhaps the close scrutiny Snake paid to Master Miller’s gestures and movements wasn’t a morbid fascination with his prostheses, but instead attraction. Perhaps his fixation on Master Miller’s ever-present aviators wasn’t intimidation, but a desire to catch a glimpse of the eyes that lay behind them. Perhaps his careful attention to Master Miller’s voice wasn’t an attempt to glean every last bit of information by his tone, but a desire to become an expert in that voice, so that he could more easily imagine Miller saying other things, words of praise or affection. 

After that, Snake faced new dilemmas. He still wanted recognition from Master Miller – even the slightest, most grudging acknowledgement was like a choir of angels to him – but at the same time, he was afraid that catching Miller’s attention and being subject to his penetrating gaze would result in Miller’s seeing right through to his inappropriate desires. 

But despite his fear, he became even more intensely curious, about who Miller was, his past, whether he behaved differently off duty. Snake indulged in the occasional pointless sexual fantasy, mostly just imagining what Miller would look like with his clothes off, or what it would feel like to be close enough to him to feel his body heat, his breath. But he was not content with what his imagination provided. He spent far more time trying to feel closer to Miller in other ways. His recitation of the fish riddle had fallen flat, but perhaps, if he could find out about a movie that Miller was truly fond of, or a book that was meaningful to him, Snake could quote it or refer to it, and make a special connection. But even if not, if he simply listened carefully to everything Master Miller said, he might be able to collect some morsel of information about his private life. 

But he had no luck at this; Miller was an engaging speaker and often lectured at length, but he was a sphinx when it came to himself and his history. 

Just when Snake was giving up hope, he happened to see a notice in the barracks about a new class that was available: an introductory course in Japanese, taught by Master Miller. Snake got special permission to take on the extra class (even though it meant giving up the last of his spare time); he already spoke several languages, so what was learning one more? 

Snake was intrigued about Miller teaching Japanese – in his experience, language teachers in special forces were always native speakers, because the material taught had to be flawless. Why would an instructor be teaching it who to all appearances was Caucasian, with his blonde hair, sun-damaged skin, and bland West Coast accent? 

As Snake discovered on the first day of the class, Miller did speak it fluently, and with an immaculate, effortless accent. Perhaps he was an Army brat whose father had been stationed in Yokohama, and he’d gotten ambitious? Seemed unlikely. Every new piece of information Snake collected merely revealed new gaps in his knowledge, which he was sure he had no hope of filling, and he despaired of ever getting closer to Master Miller.


	4. Chapter 4

Three weeks into the Japanese class, when Master Miller dismissed the cadets for the day, Snake packed up his things dejectedly. He made his slow, shuffling way out the door and down to the mess hall, still dwelling on the four (he’d counted) times that he had attempted to show off his knowledge and had instead been corrected by Miller in front of the whole class. After trudging through the chow line, he set his tray on the last remaining empty table and collapsed into his seat, shoveling food in his mouth without thought and furiously erasing notes in his notebook that he’d apparently taken incorrectly. 

By this time in his life, he was a hard man to catch unawares, but he just about jumped out of his skin when Master Miller, of all people, sat down across from him at the table. It was customary for everyone, cadets and instructors, to eat in the mess hall together, but Snake didn’t see Miller here often, and never had the two of them sat together. It was sort of like seeing your schoolteacher in the grocery store, that surreal, out-of-place feeling, but with a frisson of excitement, because it was Master Miller. 

“How are you, Snake,” Miller said as he picked up his fork, more like a statement than a question. 

Snake tried to keep his eyes on his notebook, so that he didn’t accidentally end up looking like a weirdo, gawking at Miller while he was eating. “Fine,” he mumbled. 

“Bullshit.” 

Snake looked up. “Excuse me?” 

At that moment, another cadet plopped himself down at the end of the table. Miller said to him, “How are you, Piranha.” 

Piranha shrugged and said, “Fine, sir.” 

“Good to hear,” Miller replied with a curt nod. 

Snake looked at Piranha, then at Miller. “Hey, how come you believe he’s fine but I’m not?” 

Miller tilted his head in Piranha’s direction. “Because I know Piranha. It is likely that he is fine.” He pointed at Snake with his fork. “I know you, and I think you’re bullshitting me.” 

Snake closed his notebook and squared his shoulders. “Okay, ask me again.” 

Miller chewed and swallowed the bite he’d just taken, and said, “How are you, Snake.” 

“I’m fucking terrible, Master Miller. Now do you believe me?” 

“So how do you go from being fine thirty seconds ago to terrible now?” Miller set his fork down, put his elbows on the table, and laced his fingers together. Snake was immediately sorry he’d been a wise-ass, but now he had to power through this. 

“I just feel like,” he began. 

“Hey Piranha, take a hike,” Miller interrupted. Piranha grumbled, got up, and took his tray to find another table to sit at. 

Miller returned his attention to Snake, staring at him expectantly until Snake went on. 

Snake didn’t like that he’d blurted out the words “I feel.” In the military, no one cared how you felt. So he started again. 

“Your Japanese class has turned out to be more of a challenge than I anticipated, based on my past aptitude at learning foreign languages. On one hand, I don’t want to give up – I mean, if I was the sort of person who was inclined to give up on something so easily, I wouldn’t have been recruited here. But I wonder if perhaps my time would be better spent, I mean that FOXHOUND’s time would be better spent on _me_, if I instead pursued some other kind of intelligence training.” 

As Snake stumbled over his words, Miller resumed eating his lunch in silence, like he was only half-listening. But when Snake had finally found the end of his sentence, Miller set his fork down and looked at Snake so intensely that Snake thought he might die. 

“I see you struggling in my class,” Miller said, and Snake’s heart sank. Miller went on, “I don’t think it’s because you are innately hopeless in Japanese. Tell me, what are the other languages that you are fluent in?” 

“Spanish and French, and I’m conversational in Brazilian Portuguese.” 

Miller nodded. “See, those are all Romance languages. Different enough from English to be a challenge, for sure, but all derived from the same roots. And when did you learn those languages?” 

“I taught myself for fun when I was a kid.” 

“Younger than ten?” 

“Mostly.” 

Miller stabbed a bit of carrot with his fork. “It seems to me that you are unaware that with Japanese, you have two strikes against you: your neuroplasticity has diminished, and you are learning a language from a family different than any language you’ve learned before. You are trying to make leaps, skip steps, and that is why you’re having difficulty. You’ve got to slow down on the basics, and acknowledge the limitations you have that you did not have when you learned languages as a child.” 

Snake hadn’t thought of those things before, but Miller was absolutely right. He’d been drifting, forgetting how to study effectively. Whether this was because he was distracted by his constant inappropriate thoughts about Miller, Snake did not care to speculate, lest he reach an even more unsettling conclusion. “I didn’t think of it that way,” he said slowly. “Thank you, Master Miller.” 

“I’m always happy to help. Go back and review the coursework so far. Listen to the discs you were given. Take it step by step, maybe find another cadet to practice with.” 

“I will.” Snake felt too anxious to stay, after what to Master Miller was probably a routine conversation but to him was a bombshell, so he gathered up his things and left. He wanted to say goodbye, just a casual goodbye, nothing weird, but he was unsure if he ought to. Miller was already turning his attention back to his food. 

It was only when Snake was out of the mess hall and halfway back to the barracks that he noticed how shaken he was. His legs felt like they were going to collapse under him, and his chest felt tight. “I see you struggling,” that was what Master Miller had said. To hear those words in his head now took Snake’s breath away. _He sees me. He’s noticed me. He’s actually taken the time to think about how I’m learning, and that means he’s been thinking about me, a lot_. 

Snake felt both honored and terrified. He never forgot that if he were to ever fall under Master Miller’s scrutiny in any way, it might mean discerning his stupid, immature fascination with him. With this new insight that Miller had just displayed, Snake’s fear escalated: what if Miller was somehow able to not only surmise his desires but read his mind, and see Snake’s most embarrassing fantasy? In it, he was asked to stay after class, to come sit across from Master Miller at his desk. Miller then reached across slowly to put his hand over Snake’s, fingers skimming over fingers until they touched his wrist, palm dry and hot. And then, Miller would say, “Let me tell you everything.”


	5. Chapter 5

Where Miller led the Wilderness Survival class that day, there was no trail. It was a seemingly random patch of forest half a mile outside of the base, and no one knew what they were headed for, or why. Snake tried not to make it obvious that he was sticking close to Master Miller, just for the sake of being close, perhaps to catch an offhand comment along the way, while the other cadets clustered into their established cliques to gossip on the hike. 

Once they’d reached their apparent destination, each cadet was given a pocket knife out of Master Miller’s pack. “You are dismissed today when you have built a shelter and started a fire,” he announced. “If you are not dismissed in time for your next scheduled duty or class, that’s your responsibility.” 

For five seconds, the cadets stood still, waiting for further instruction. Snake was the first to move: he set about looking for branches suitable for constructing a lean-to. It was only when Master Miller said nothing to stop or correct him that the other cadets followed suit. 

Each cadet informally staked out a little patch of ground, and Miller strolled from one to another – to the extent that he could “stroll,” stepping over dead branches with his cane – and observed their work. Seemingly at random, but inevitably for each cadet, he disrupted what they were doing somehow: just as one soldier stepped back from her completed bough den, Miller explained that a strong wind was about to blow through, kicked the entire structure over, and told her to begin again. 

“It is certain that something will go wrong,” Miller shouted to the group. “When your life is at stake, every mistake is magnified. Even a flawless response to a crisis can be sabotaged by random chance. You must learn to cope with frustration. You cannot quit. You cannot be impulsive. You cannot waste energy. You must channel all emotional intensity into acting productively.” 

Snake had built his shelter without interruption, and was now working on the fire. With his bootlace and three found items – a notched rock, a piece of dead wood, and a willow branch – he built a bow drill, sawing away with it for several minutes but still completing his assignment before anyone else, and with twenty-five minutes to spare to get to his next class. Miller came by to inspect his work. Snake knelt on the ground by the fire, still as stone, as Miller ducked his head into Snake’s shelter. The anticipation of hearing his evaluation made Snake feel like his heart would burst. Here was an opportunity to win Miller’s approval, and in front of everyone, no less. In the two weeks since their conversation about his poor performance in Miller’s Japanese class, such approval was all he craved. Snake looked down at the fire he’d started, which others stood in awe of, waiting to hear Miller’s voice. 

Miller walked all around his shelter and then stood in front of the fire. Snake opened his eyes and looked up at him. Miller nodded solemnly. “Good work, Snake,” he said, and Snake was certain, for a moment, that on the way back to the base his feet would not touch the ground. 

Miller then took a canteen from his pack, unscrewed it, and turned it upside-down over the fire, extinguishing it and soaking the best components that Snake could find. “Too bad it started to rain,” he said, and moved on.  
  


***

It wasn’t that Snake wanted special treatment – that was not how good soldiers were made, and Snake’s only goal in life was to be a good soldier. It was just, he’d thought he’d really made a connection with Master Miller in the mess hall that day, had broken through the façade of Miller’s cold toughness, to uncover the thoughtful and compassionate human beneath. Sitting next to his little fire, he had thought – or now, he supposed, he’d _entertained himself with the delusion_ – that Master Miller might have held him up as an example: “Look at Snake’s excellent work, everyone. All of you should demonstrate this level of dedication to speed and skill.” That was all he wished for.

He’d never desired such naked praise before from an instructor or superior – a curt nod had always been enough. It was just something about Master Miller that made Snake crave heartfelt approval. So when Miller had doused his fire, Snake had been crushed by the weight of his own foolishness, and for the rest of the day, everything he did was made more laborious by this burden. 

Lying sleepless in his bunk that night, Snake vowed to harden his heart, to turn away from Master Miller and the desire for his attention. It was only hurting him, to spend his energy so frivolously on an infatuation. It benefited no one that he’d spent months now trying to humanize the Hell Master, and to no avail. Really, it was best if he just focused on his training and stopped thinking about Miller at all. He had plenty to keep him busy; it wasn’t like he was a lovesick sop, waiting by the phone on a Saturday night. He could leave behind those useless feelings once and for all, and renew his dedication to stoic solitude.

***

That promise to himself lasted for about a day and a half.

***

Snake tossed his lunch tray on top of the stack on the cart, dumped his silverware into the neighboring bin, and headed for the door of the mess hall, pulling on his winter coat and gloves as he went. When he opened the door, the first thing he saw was a wandering cat. It was a lean calico, sauntering in the way all cats did when they were not on the hunt. No one on the base was allowed to keep pets of any kind, but some semi-feral cats had been loosed to help control the local vermin. It was forbidden to feed them, on the grounds that they needed to stay fighting fit, and getting caught sneaking one so much as a piece of gristle meant latrine duty. 

Snake preferred dogs, himself, but he liked all animals. He took a step towards the cat, wanting to pet it, because that was allowed, but someone came around the corner of the administrative building across from the mess hall and encountered the cat first: Master Miller. Snake froze, until someone brushed past him through the door, complaining that he was letting the cold air in. Snake stepped back inside, let the door close, and sidestepped so he could peer out the window. 

Knowing that humans were not a source of food here, the cat approached Miller anyway, weaving between his ankles. Miller bent down, and the cat lifted its body to receive his attention. He stroked its back and scratched its head for half a minute or so; when he straightened up, the cat meowed insistently, and so Miller, apparently enamored, sat on the steps of the admin building and devoted several minutes to giving the cat pets and scritches. His expression softened as the cat leapt into his lap. Then, even from a distance, Snake could see that Miller’s lips had begun to move – he was talking to it. 

Then, a group of drilling cadets came tromping through, and scared the cat away. Miller watched the cat skitter back into the woods, then stood up and brushed off his fatigues. He grabbed his cane and carried on as if he had not been interrupted on his walk. 

Snake’s heart thawed, and he was consumed anew by a desire to soften Master Miller’s demeanor the way that the cat had. Was he not also a tough stray, perfectly capable of surviving on his own but nevertheless craving just a thin sliver of kind attention?


	6. Chapter 6

Watching the final minutes tick down on the clock, Snake began to feel a sickening pressure in his chest, a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was the last day of his classes with Master Miller; soon he and the other cadets would be wrapping up their training, and then after the new year, receiving their first assignments, shipping out to make room for the next round of FOXHOUND candidates. It was uncertain whether Snake would see anyone at this camp again – and that included Master Miller. 

In every other respect, Snake was ready to start carrying out missions, confident in hi new specialized training as an intelligence operative. But he was not ready for his path to diverge from Master Miller’s. He was certain he could spend years being taught by Miller and still not learn everything he had to teach; and in another respect, he was reluctant to leave Miller’s presence never having gotten to truly know him, or to feel that he had made any sort of connection with him. Snake feared that he would be suffering from the emptiness of his failure for the rest of his life. 

He was certainly not feeling the same sense of relief that his fellow cadets were reveling in that day, the unspoken collective anticipation of finally being free of Master Miller’s sharp tongue and generous distribution of misery. Snake didn’t have to linger long to be the last one out the door when the class was dismissed. He gathered his things slowly, waiting for everyone else to leave. He didn’t have high hopes for a spectacular, life-changing goodbye, a sudden revelation of mutual affection; he just wanted to give Miller a personal farewell that would, who knows, perhaps prompt him to invite Snake to stay in touch. It was worth a shot, anyway. 

Miller did not seem at all surprised when he saw that Snake was staying behind. Rather than pack up his own materials in preparation to return to his office, he simply leaned against his desk, arms crossed, and waited for Snake to sheepishly approach. 

“Master Miller,” Snake said. “I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’m a better soldier for your instruction. you’re an inspiration to me, and you’ve been generous with your time when I had questions, or...when I faced obstacles. You’ve taught me more than you’ll ever know, I think.” 

Miller uncrossed his arms and clapped Snake on the shoulder. “I appreciate that, Snake. What I do here is all for the cadets. Some of them don’t seem to realize that, but it’s gratifying to know that you do, and it’s one reason why I think you’re the best of the lot.” 

Miller’s simple, off-handed praise and the touch of his hand gave Snake goosebumps, and he was momentarily tongue-tied. Granted, he was not too shocked to be just a little indignant: could Miller not have spared one or two more of these kind words in the past six months? Could he scrape together an unalloyed compliment only now? 

But Snake couldn’t bring himself to be truly angry. In the moment, he could only stammer, “Oh! Uh, thanks. I mean, yes, I always saw what you did as valuable and, well, I don’t think you’ve done anything to deserve having everyone call you ‘Hell Master.’” 

Miller tilted his head slightly, squeezed Snake’s shoulder, and favored him with an enigmatic smile. Snake’s mouth opened in shock – could this be…? Did this look mean…? 

Too late, Snake felt the silent presence of two men behind him. One restrained his arms while the other dropped a bag over his head. The bag smelled of chemicals, and before Snake could so much as struggle, he lost consciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

Snake awoke groggy and cold, propped against the trunk of an ancient cedar with very little idea where he was. Based on the temperature and the coniferous vegetation immediately surrounding him, he was confident that he was still in Alaska, but could assess no more than that through his initial wooziness. He struggled to his feet, stumbling around until he could get his blood pumping and clear his head. 

First, he assessed himself. He was not in any pain. He was dressed in clothes appropriate for the climate, including gloves and a wool cap. Wiggling his face, he did not feel any symptoms of frostbite. He searched all his pockets, and discovered only one item: a pocket knife. 

He looked up at the sky. The darkness in the clouds directly above told him that he was in the middle of thick forest, while some white clouds in the distance indicated snow in that direction, possibly mountains. Beyond that, the forest was too dense to determine where he was. Snake had of course familiarized himself with the area around the FOXHOUND base, but not to the extent that he could intuitively know his location on the ground, with no landmarks. All he could discern, based on the thickness of the moss on one side of the trees, and the lightness of the bark on the alders specifically, was which way was north. 

When one found oneself in a situation such as this, the first three priorities were water, food, and shelter. Pristine patches of snow on the ground promised the first, if he could find a way to contain and melt it; the other two he would need to get to work on to make happen. 

With his knife, he could construct a sufficiently sturdy bough den, just as he had that day in Master Miller’s survival course. A lean-to would have been more durable and comfortable, but he was not sure how long he wanted to remain where he was. He did not know how important stealth and camouflage were, and so he erred on the side of “enemy territory,” making sure his shelter had a low silhouette and an irregular shape. 

To supplement the sparse amount of bone-dry lichen and twigs he managed to collect, he looked for gassiope, a low spreading evergreen plant that contained so much resin that it burned even when wet. He struggled for half an hour with a bow drill before he got a spark that set the tinder alight. Once he was sheltered and warm, he crawled into the bough den and undressed a little at a time, to check himself more thoroughly for wounds or injuries. He found nothing, and so then it was time to find food. Lacking the equipment and the energy to acquire more substantial food, for now he foraged for edible berries, dandelions, lichen, beetles and grubs. It was miserable eating, but it was energy. He used the sleeve of his waterproof jacket to hold snow and melt it over the fire, so he could drink it. 

By the time he was safely ensconced in his shelter, munching on salmonberries, it was nearly dark. He had nothing else to do, except think about the situation he was in. He knew that this was a test, but what were the exact parameters? Was it simply to see if he could survive? And if so, for how long? Would someone come and get him? Or was he expected to get back to the base? Even if that was not the victory condition, he would rather attempt it than stay put. He had no idea in which direction civilization might be, but he knew he did not want to go north, into the snow and mountains. And so after that first night, he dismantled his shelter and made his way southwest. In Alaska, he was more likely to find other people in the valleys and nearer the coast. 

Snake stayed on high alert every minute of that first day, looking out for food sources, dangerous wildlife, and other people. But that night, and for several nights after that, before he could turn his brain off and fall asleep, he had to struggle not to let pure panic set in. He knew that his skills made him one of the most likely humans on Earth to survive this challenge, but even so, the uncertainties in this scenario were distressing. If he had been in a plane that had crashed, or escaped from a POW camp, he would have a better idea of where he was and where he needed to go. He had been dropped into just about the most difficult circumstances imaginable, and he knew that when this was over, he would be debriefed on everything he’d done, every decision he’d made. Every one of his actions would be scrutinized. He had to risk the panicked moments, because he could not let his guard down. 

At first, the adrenaline rush was exhilarating, a high he’d come to crave during the war, but he’d never had to maintain such a state of mind for so long. Every step had to be taken with the utmost care – in addition to ordinary obstacles that he might trip over or injure himself on, he was still paranoid about traps that FOXHOUND might have set for him. Even when he had to avoid the occasional grizzly bear, he could not lose control and move too fast. 

And so the panic that never let up became boring and routine, an exhausting mental state that Snake had not only not experienced before, but had not thought possible. Every day was filled with maddening tedium, punctuated by the giddiness that came with the smallest victories – like when he managed to get a fire started in five minutes instead of twenty. 

Most of the time that Snake allowed his mind to wander from his immediate safety and security, he thought about Master Miller. He didn’t see this whole scenario, and his success or failure at it, as an opportunity to impress (or disappoint) FOXHOUND. He saw it only in terms of Master Miller, and he didn’t know whether that was a good or bad thing. He supposed that so long as one survived and succeeded, it didn’t matter what motivated you, how specifically your loyalty was directed. But the fact that he would never want anyone to _know_ that he cared more about Master Miller’s opinion of him than anyone else’s was very telling. It was natural, desirable he supposed, to be devoted to and motivated by one’s mentors, but at what point did that devotion take on a significance that might compromise a mission? How could one tell when one’s strong feelings had strayed outside of what a soldier was supposed to feel? Never before had Snake considered these questions, despite the fact that in his military career he’d had many previous mentors. 

Snake harbored no ill will towards Miller for his part in the kidnapping. After all, what had he come to FOXHOUND to do, if not to prove that he could endure any challenge, survive any hardship? Miller was the scorpion on the frog’s back, and this sting an inevitability. Snake still missed him terribly, and as each day put more distance between himself and his memories of Miller’s taciturn, acerbic demeanor, his imagination pieced together a new ideal, still stern and stoic but with a more vulnerable interior that Snake could just glimpse. 

Although his destination was uncertain, and the terrain forced him to meander, his instincts about the correct direction of travel turned out to be correct: on the fifth day, he heard rushing water in the distance, and tracked the sound to a river. He was confident that if he followed it downstream, sooner or later he would find some sort of settlement – possibly even the FOXHOUND base. 

After that, the food improved. When he found a stream that flowed into the river, he narrowed it with stones to trap fish. He cooked what he caught over a fire, and buried the entrails. When he got tired of fish, he considered constructing a figure-four deadfall to trap small mammals, but that required patience, staying in one place long enough to catch something. He wanted to keep moving. He used his knife to whittle a spear, and set off in search of rabbits and other prey that froze as a defense. 

Each evening while he ate, he kept the fire going to warm any stones he could find, and put them between his layers of clothing before going to sleep. He slept on his stomach, holding his knife under his chin, listening to the howling of coyotes. 

Staying clean in cold weather was a misery, but he knew he had to adhere to a bare minimum of hygiene in order to prevent infections. He washed with river water, and also found a hawk’s feather, which he used to clean his teeth. 

Each night, he made camp early, so that he would be comfortable and warm and fed by the time the sun set. Most of his necessary daily tasks had to be accomplished during his meager budget of six hours of daylight; he did what he could by the light of the fire each evening, but that did not amount to much. By four o’clock in the afternoon, he had to have his shelter built and his food caught. 

In addition to the frustration of being able to cover so little ground each day, Snake also had to contend with the misery of boredom. Once he’d gotten himself as warm and fed as he could, he was faced with a complete lack of entertainment. He tried to pass the hours before sleep came by remembering the lyrics to as many popular songs as he could, or recalling the storylines of favorite books, but sooner or later his thoughts would drift back to Master Miller. 

When faced with solitude, all men inevitably sought solace in both the sacred and the profane, begging for the mercy of a higher power one moment, consoling oneself with fantasies of unspeakable intimacy the next. For Snake, who had no religion to speak of, both of these threads of longing were entwined in one man. Snake daydreamed of waking up in his little shelter in the morning to find Miller outside, leaning against a tree, regarding him from behind those aviators before saying, “Finally, you’re up. You ready to get going?” It wasn’t even a dream of rescue – just to have Miller’s company, without any interruption or distraction, human or otherwise, would turn this hell into a heaven. Hunting together, helping each other to cross difficult and unfamiliar terrain, huddled together in front of a little fire sharing stories, looking up at the stars together. It made Snake’s breath catch, whenever he imagined these things. 

Sometimes, his fantasies turned more carnal, although not as much, he was sure, as was typical for a lonely man. Snake had always suspected that he was less preoccupied with sex than his peers – unlike other boys, his curiosity about it never seemed to have blossomed into obsessive pursuit. And even when he thought about Master Miler, about whom he had feelings of unprecedented intensity, he found it difficult to conjure images of _fucking_. He was fairly certain that he wanted to interact with Miller in a sexual way, but he couldn’t hold an image of their bodies entangled in his mind without dismissing it as ridiculous. The one fantasy he could sustain was of Miller jerking off. It was the only thing that convinced Snake that he needed to take his own dick out and stroke it, until he ejaculated on the cold, hard ground inside his shelter: he pictured Miller pleasuring himself, playing with his cock – maybe thinking about Snake, his favorite student, while he did it. 

On the fourteenth day after waking up alone in the wilderness, Snake strolled into the FOXHOUND base, reeking and scruffy and exhausted, but fed and uninjured. He was first spotted by an instructor on drill duty, who had to look twice to recognize him. “Snake, welcome back. Miller is expecting you. Report to his office.” 

Snake straightened up and acknowledged the instructor in the appropriate manner, tempted but thankfully too exhausted to reply that he did not need to be told to do this; there was no one else in the world that Snake wanted to see right now besides Master Miller, no one to whom he was more eager to make his presence on the base known. 

Miller was indeed in his office, a stack of papers on either side of him, a red pen in hand. He responded to the knock on the door, but did not otherwise acknowledge Snake when he walked in. 

“I’m here for my debriefing,” Snake said, once the silence became too awkwardly long to stand. “Presumably.” 

“No need for that,” Master Miller said, not looking up from his paperwork. “I was keeping an eye on you the whole time.” 

“Sir?” 

“Don’t worry. Whether or not you could see who was watching you, or how, was not part of the test. If you knew you were being monitored, it would have changed your behavior. But FOXHOUND had eyes on you. You demonstrated excellent knowledge of advanced sub-arctic survival skills, you remained composed in the face of uncertainty, and you found your way back here before any other cadet. That means you’ve earned a break. You’re relieved of all duties until Saturday morning. Dismissed.” 

Snake was fairly certain that it was Thursday afternoon. He would have a day and a half to rest and recover, which was less than he could have used, but was honestly was more than he thought he could reasonably hope for. 

He made his way to the door, but the moment he laid his hand on the doorknob, Miller said, “Snake? If you’d like an informal debriefing, you can come to my apartment at seventeen hundred tomorrow. It’s not very swanky, but I think you’ll find it a more pleasant place to pass your precious leisure time than the barracks.” 

Snake’s senses had not been so dulled by hunger, cold and fatigue that he did not understand what an odd but utterly miraculous and appealing offer that was. Before he could respond, Miller asked, “You like curry?” 

Snake managed to collect a whole sentence’s worth of words with which to respond: “Right now I’m kind of into any hot meal that’s on a plate.” 

“Excellent.” Miller gave him directions – the apartment complex was in a part of the base where cadets never had reason to set foot – then said, “At the risk of sounding arrogant – a risk I take regularly – one does not need to have spent two weeks foraging in the Alaskan wilderness to appreciate my cooking.”


	8. Chapter 8

Snake had no idea what to expect inside Master Miller’s apartment, when he knocked on the door. Though he had tried in vain for months to collect information about Miller, so far as he knew he had uncovered only rumors. And after his unexpected wilderness adventure, he frankly was not sure, as he stood on Miller’s doorstep, if he was even going to make it to the inside of the apartment – among other things, Snake had learned that with FOXHOUND, one must always expect the unexpected. He wondered if it had even been the smart thing to do to accept the invitation – he might be walking into another trap. 

It was both a surprise and a relief when Master Miller opened the door in an unremarkable way, and greeted him warmly. Snake stepped over the threshold at his invitation, and followed him inside. The place was filled with the smell of food cooking, and it was wonderfully warm. Snake accepted Miller’s offer of a cold beer, and after taking it, stood in the kitchen and stared as Miller returned to the kitchen counter and resumed chopping up carrots. He was sort of aware that he was gawking at Miller behaving like a normal human being, but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it. 

Miller was still wearing his aviators, the most compelling evidence yet that they were somehow therapeutic, and not merely an affectation. He wore a black tank top with fatigue trousers, not necessarily the most appropriate attire for hosting, but that didn’t concern Snake. He could see, for the first time, Miller’s entire prosthetic arm, not just the hand. It was an astounding device, which apparently allowed him to not just write or shoot, as Snake had seen him do with it, but to chop vegetables with precision. It went all the way up to his shoulder, as Snake had suspected, and was not secured with any straps. 

Miller’s other arm was muscular in the sinewy way that middle-aged men tended to be when they were athletic, but he worked with fluid delicacy in the kitchen. As he was mostly turned away, facing the stove, Snake could get an eyeful of his shoulders and lats as he moved around. His fatigue trousers were well-fitted, and flattered his ass; the fact that he was wearing them, and not blue jeans or slacks, told Snake that Miller either didn’t have a life outside of FOXHOUND, and thus did not need much in the way of civilian clothes, or else he never bothered to acquire civvies because he preferred to use his military aesthetic for social cache in civilian society. Below the cuff of his right trouser leg, a bare foot. Below the cuff of the left, a black and silver facsimile of one. His cane was by the door; he moved around the kitchen without it, though Snake could detect a hitch in his step as he walked unaided. It was just the tiniest thing, but Snake felt overwhelmed with it, how Miller was willing to show this slightest vulnerability to Snake in private. 

“Oh, remove your shoes, please,” Miller said, gesturing vaguely behind him, “and make yourself at home.” The apartment had an open plan, and was small enough that, after duly placing his shoes on the mat by the door, Snake could move into the living area and still see and hear Miller as he wandered around, looking at the things on his walls and shelves. 

Over the sofa were three prints by Kuniyoshi Utagawa: the first was a samurai engaged in single combat with a warrior priest; the second depicted the Battle of Ujigawa, with men and a horse drowning in the sea; the third was a samurai pierced by many arrows, and blocking many more. Snake was not the greatest expert on 19th century Japanese art, but he had studied warriors of all kinds in history, and in reading several books about samurai, had seen Kuniyoshi’s art before. 

Against the opposite wall was a tall shelving unit. The eye-level shelves held Miller’s music, in three formats: vinyl, cassette and compact disc. It was not unusual for a man his age to have so many formats; he had no doubt been frustrated when the introduction of tapes, and then CDs, had compelled him to buy his favorite albums over and over. But examining the spines, Snake noticed that there was actually very little redundancy in the titles. Records that were released in the late 60’s and early 70’s, which by rights Miller should have originally owned on vinyl, were only on cassette on these shelves. (All the CDs were the most recent releases from artists who had established themselves in prior eras; the Rolling Stones’ _Steel Wheels_, for example.) 

Below all that, on the bottom two shelves, were tall, narrow gray boxes with handwritten labels, which upon closer inspection Snake guessed to be reel-to-reel recordings. The labels said things like “Steam Locomotives, 1979-1983,” or “Jet Engines, 1981-1986.” 

Another shelf held dozens of books, but again, they looked fairly recent; there were no dog-eared copies of those staples of every well-read soldier’s library, such as _Seven Pillars of Wisdom_, _The Art of War_, or _Guerrilla Warfare_. 

Perhaps more remarkably, Snake saw no displayed photos, nor did he spot anything that looked like a photo album. In his experience, no matter how intense the combat situation, there was always someone around taking pictures, and in war one always faced long stretches of boredom that were alleviated by goofing around for a photographer. It seemed strange that Miller did not seem to have a single picture of himself or of any fellow soldier in the whole place. 

Sometimes Miller’s eyes were on his cooking, but sometimes he was just letting things simmer, and looked at Snake to see what he was up to. He never offered any information, but provided straightforward answers to any question Snake thought of. 

“Did you make these recordings?” Snake asked. 

“I did. I like ambient sounds, especially machinery and vehicles. Steam trains are my favorite.” 

Snake had absolutely nothing more to say on this subject, as he did not understand Miller’s liking for these noises at all. Instead he said, “I really like the samurai pictures. Kuniyoshi, right?” 

“Yep.” 

“Are you interested in samurai?” 

“A little bit. Those were a gift.” 

Snake perked up. If Miller had received a gift from someone, and he had put it on his wall, that must mean that someone cared for him, and that he cared for them as well. “A gift from who?” he asked, expecting it to be a woman for some reason. 

Miller hesitated for just a moment before answering. “...I got them when I joined FOXHOUND. Someone once told me their first impression of me was that I had the spirit of a samurai, and I guess that impression stuck.” 

It did not escape Snake’s notice that Miller didn’t actually identify the person who gave him the prints. He decided not to press him on the issue...but he couldn’t help but ask a more prying question: 

“What happened in the mid-1970s?” Snake asked. 

“Excuse me?” Miller froze, holding a spoon in the simmering pot. This was the first time he had stalled. 

“It’s just, it seems like everything that you’ve made, or collected, none of it predates the mid-1970s. There are no pictures from before then. Your music collection should have more vinyl, I feel like, but it’s mostly cassettes. I just thought, something must have happened around then, and you lost everything.” Snake hoped it wasn’t a divorce. That would mean that for sure there had been a woman who’d meant that much to him, maybe even children, and that made Snake envious. 

“You are very observant,” Miller said. “And correct. Something did happen around then, and I did lose everything I owned, and pretty much everyone I knew. But I’m not going to talk about that tonight, it’s too unpleasant. Anyway, dinner’s ready. Have a seat.” 

Snake sat at the dining table, which occupied the space between the kitchen’s bar counter and the living room. Miller first brought out plates, napkins, and utensils; then a second beer for Snake and one for himself; and finally a tray with two big bowls: one heaped with white rice, the other filled with a rich curry, loaded with beef, carrots, and potatoes. He sat down and invited Snake to serve himself. 

All the dinnerware and utensils were of a Japanese style, the plates square and the bowls glazed, and there were chopsticks instead of forks. Snake fidgeted, insecure about his table manners and afraid that he would pick up something in an insulting way. Miller sensed this, and assured Snake that it was difficult to offend him. “I have seen every kind of uncouth eating behavior from soldiers all over the world. Nothing could shock me, but I know you’re polite, so don’t worry about picking up your chopsticks wrong and pissing off the gods or something. It’s fine.” 

Snake nodded, and grabbed the serving spoon to scoop rice onto his plate. Then he watched the way Miller did it, so that if he went back for seconds he could improve his technique. 

While they ate, Miller asked Snake about his life before FOXHOUND. Snake started to talk about his military training, what he did during Desert Storm, but it wasn’t long before Miller stopped him. “I know all that. I’ve read your file. I mean, what was life like growing up for you?” 

Snake wasn’t sure where to begin, or how to make that part of his life compelling to a listener. He tried to focus on things that had interested him at school, and mentioned a few good experiences with foster families – the man who taught him basic car maintenance, the woman who took him with her to city council meetings, the older siblings who introduced him to _Star Wars_ and Bruce Springsteen. 

Miller listened and never interrupted; when Snake reached the end of a thought, he would either ask another question, or would make a comment that was relevant but not personal – something he’d heard on the news, or someone he knew a long time ago, but without ever revealing anything about his own life. But whatever he said, it always prompted Snake to say something else, and the conversation went on long after the serving bowls had been emptied. Miller got up and got two more beers from the fridge, set one by the sink, and handed the other to Snake. Suddenly, the back of Snake’s neck prickled. 

“Hey, can you just be honest with me? Is this a test?” Snake asked abruptly. “Is the idea that you give me a few beers and show a little interest in me to see if that loosens me up enough to give away secrets?” 

“No,” Miller said, as he gathered up the dishes and brought them to the kitchen sink to wash. He gestured to Snake that he might want to take a seat on one of the bar stools, then took pulls from his beer while he rinsed the dishes off and placed them one by one in the drainer next to the sink. He refused Snake’s offer of help. “I have to do my job as a FOXHOUND instructor elsewhere on the base,” he said, “but I promise you, while you are in my home, there will be no tests, and no tricks. I invited you here because I like you as a person, and I like to cook, and it’s not often I get to spend time with good company and be a host.” 

Snake’s heart flipped. No one had ever described him as “good company” before. He was used to people liking him around because he was intelligent and resourceful, someone who could get the job done, a tool for fixing whatever problem you had. He’d rarely been treated like a person, even by his foster families. It made him want to dig inside himself and be more human, more funny and open and expressive. 

But that was a tall order on a moment’s notice, so all he said was, “That’s very nice of you.” 

“You can show your gratitude by just being yourself.” 

Snake nodded. “But can I talk to you about what happened these last two weeks?” 

“Of course. I was hoping that in a less formal environment, you might be more candid about your experience.” 

“So this _is_ my evaluation?” 

“No. We’re talking man-to-man tonight, not soldier to officer.” 

Snake began to describe his experience, keeping in mind what Miller had said the day he returned: that someone had been keeping an eye on him when he had been in the woods. He didn’t go on and on about the things he had done, building traps to catch fish and so on. He did acknowledge that Miller’s training on these techniques had proved invaluable, but what he was mostly thankful for, he told Miller, was the instruction he’d given on the psychological aspects of survival. 

“I listened to everything you said in every lecture, but I admit, I kind of thought I already knew all about it. I had been in dangerous situations before, urgent situations, firefights, and kept my head on straight. And I know you said that solitude can be a challenge, but I didn’t think it would affect me that much, because I never liked people anyway, and I don’t get attached to them. But you were right, I had a difficult time. I guess what I learned is, it’s easier to feel alone in a crowd than when there’s nobody around for miles. I was afraid, like I’ve never been afraid before, and I didn’t know how to stop it.” 

Miller nodded, and his tone as he spoke was sympathetic, without a hint of I-told-you-so, which Snake was anticipating. “Soldiers learn individual skills, but they train to function as a team,” he explained. “We become used to the information and guidance we get from our fellow soldiers and superiors. But if you’re going to work for FOXHOUND, you’re going to have to stop thinking of yourself as a soldier, and start thinking of yourself as an intelligence operative: someone who can expect to receive limited support and must independently carry out the mission to the letter.” 

Snake listened carefully, taking the last few sips of his beer just to have something to do with his hands as Miller continued speaking: “_That’s_ why you were dropped in the middle of the woods with nothing and no one. I know you know how to build a shelter and start a fire. I needed to see how you dealt with the solitude. Ambushes and firefights are glamorous, but nothing is more stressful than being alone in an unfamiliar environment when you could die from an accident, or an inability to acquire food. And that stress is not something you can just _get over_. It is a natural reaction to pressure. Over time, you can reduce this stress by performing necessary tasks and bringing your situation under control, which you did, but there is no trick to eliminating it entirely. You can only train yourself to use your anxiety to motivate you, not paralyze you.” 

Snake thought about the times when he’d felt paralyzed; it hadn’t been when he’d experienced anxiety – on the contrary, that had energized him. “But sometimes I felt depressed,” he said. “Especially the first few days, I dwelled on the fact that I was not completely sure of what I was doing. And then even after that, after I found the river, I was surviving, but I still didn’t know where I was going. And I worried that if something catastrophic happened, all the training that I had would be in vain. It made me feel useless, like what was happening was more about fate than skill, so why bother.” 

“You recognized those helpless feelings, though.” 

“Well, yeah, but then it felt like there was nothing I could do about them.” 

“Being honest about your feelings is ninety percent of the solution. Many soldiers do not get that far.” 

_If only I could really be honest about my feelings_, Snake thought, when Miller’s eyes were off him and focusing on finishing up the dishes. _Maybe I could just tell him…No._ Snake pinched his own thigh to banish stupid thoughts. 

“This experience will help you in the future,” Miller assured him. “You can look back and say, _I survived in Alaska, and it was no accident. It was all due to my abilities. I owed nothing to the mercy of others_. It may not feel like a resolution to your problem now, but it’s not supposed to. You will never stop learning. You don’t _want_ to stop learning, do you?” 

“No, not at all!” Snake brightened to hear this, because sometimes he’d felt like he was the only one in the military who felt the way he did. He hadn’t thought of his experience that way, that was his problem. It hadn’t been a final test – it was still part of the learning. 

Miller dried his hands, folded up the dishcloth, and walked past Snake and into the living room. When Snake stood up to follow, he suddenly became more aware that he had three beers in him. He was pleasantly buzzed, and therefore, he knew from experience, more likely to say something stupid, but above all else he was aware that he needed a piss. He excused himself to the bathroom, and when he returned, Miller had his hand on a dimmer switch by the sofa. 

“If you don’t mind, now that we’re done eating, I’d like to turn the lights down, so I can take my glasses off.” 

Snake wondered for a moment if this was a come-on. But that seemed unlikely; if Miller had a single clue about his infatuation, he would know that a protracted, ritualistic seduction was totally unnecessary. 

“Of course,” Snake said. “You should be comfortable in your own home.” 

Once Miller turned the dial, there was still enough light for Snake to see him, and to navigate the room, but Snake wouldn’t have wanted to try reading by it. Miller sat on the sofa, and invited Snake to join him. Snake positioned himself facing Miller, his back to the opposite armrest and one knee up on the cushions, and watched, holding his breath, as Miller removed his aviators. 

What he saw was...unremarkable. It was apparent now that Miller had non-white heritage, but his eyes definitely did not seem to be disfigured in any way. He saw that Snake was trying to discern any irregularities, and saved him the trouble by explaining, “I suffered traumatic eye injury a few years back. It exacerbated my photosensitivity, and I developed cataracts. I had surgery for the cataracts last year, but I still have a tough time dealing with lights brighter than this.” He added ruefully, “They’re also bifocals now, because I’m an old man.” 

“So the way you intimidate recruits by never taking them off is just a bonus for you.” 

“Nothing wrong with cultivating a little mystique,” Miller reasoned. “Do me a favor and keep all this to yourself. If pressed, tell the other cadets that I have bionic eyes or something, just to help me maintain my reputation. I’m trusting you, now.” 

“I’ll make up something good, I promise.” Snake leaned forward, struggling in the dim light to examine Miller’s face. “Are you...I’m sorry, but now that I see your eyes...are you Japanese?” 

“My mother was. My father was an American GI.” 

Miller said nothing more, and Snake tried to do a little estimating in his head based on Miller’s probable age. Every time he tried to count, he lost track a little, which he blamed on the beer. But it didn’t take a genius, not even a sober one, to guess at what the circumstances of Miller’s birth were. Snake knew, then, that he had been told quite a lot just now, and ought not push his luck with his reticent master by asking more questions. At the same time, between the removal of his glasses and the other half-revelations about his past this evening, Snake’s curiosity was threatening to bubble over, and he looked up, at the prints over the sofa. 

“So that was why the person who gave you these said you had the spirit of the samurai? It really is in your blood.” 

“That I don’t know. Samurai were a separate caste, and I don’t know if any of them would be in my particular ancestry. I think that when I was told that, I bought into it because I wanted to believe that what I was doing was right, that I was carrying on some sort of noble warrior’s legacy. Looking back, I think that he just knew exactly the right thing to say. I watched him do the same to other people. But I still thought I was special to him, and I tried to be who he told me I was.” 

The buzzing in Snake’s brain intensified, hearing this new morsel of information. Who was this man Miller was talking about? Why did Miller’s face seem to cloud over when he talked about him? Snake was intrigued, but also jealous. He didn’t like the idea that Miller’s heart might already be full. He tried to stay on the subject, but without dwelling on this other man, whoever he might be. “So have you tried to adhere to the code of the samurai your whole life?” 

Miller snorted. “Not at all. I was born an outcast, and outcasts can’t afford to live by a code of honor. Such things can be beneficial if you’re fully integrated into a social group, but if you’re on your own, _bushidō_ doesn’t take the place of meals.” 

“Oh.” 

Miller tilted his head. Snake still wasn’t over being able to see his eyes, after all these months, and kept staring at his face. Miller said, gently, “You seem disappointed. Was there a specific aspect of the samurai you thought you saw in me?” 

“Oh, well, it’s more like…” Snake’s tongue answered the question before his brain could stop it. “I wondered if you were ever involved in a, uh, _shudō _situation.” As soon as he heard himself, his stomach turned over, but it was too late to take it back. 

Miller’s eyebrows went up, and the corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Are you looking for a position as my _wakashû_?” 

Snake turned away, covering his face to hide his mortification. Of course, of _course_ he couldn’t get through a simple dinner invitation without saying something stupid. And Miller’s utter lack of surprise: he _knew_. He knew all along. But how could he not; Snake was always acting like an _idiot_. “I’m sorry,” he managed to croak. “I shouldn’t have said that. I guess I’ve had too much to drink.” 

“Think nothing of it.” (Miller was so casual about it, so unconcerned about Snake’s remark. That just made it worse.) “But _wakashûs_ were a little younger than you, and even you are just about younger than I ever cared for. Anyway, don’t you have someone your own age to canoodle with? I have to say, this training camp is the most densely-packed collection of young, attractive, athletic specimens I’ve ever encountered, and I’ve encountered a few in my time.” 

“I haven’t really noticed,” Snake said. He turned his body back to Miller, but kept his eyes averted. “I mean, I’ve _noticed_, but I’ve been busy.” 

“With the training.” 

“Yeah.” 

“But if you think you’re in the market for it now, why not just carve out time for a quickie with one of them? I’m sure you could have your pick. I must seem ancient, compared to the opportunities a young buck like you must have.” 

Tired of looking at the floor or his hands, now Snake looked at the ceiling. “No, I...I haven’t.” 

“You...” Miller waved his hand. “..._Haven’t?_ At all?” 

“Like I said, I’ve been busy,” Snake huffed. 

“No one is that busy.” 

Snake suddenly became fascinated with his own fingernails, and picked at them as he admitted, “I guess I just never knew how to talk to girls. And I never did anything with guys, for fear of being caught. The military is all I have, it’s all I’ve ever had, and I can’t risk getting kicked out.” 

Miller leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “A reasonable excuse. Suspiciously reasonable for someone your age. When I was twenty I was fucking everything that moved, consequences be damned.” 

Snake scoffed at this. “When you were twenty, there was no AIDS.” 

Miller put one hand up. “That’s a good point, I’ll give you that. But still.” 

Since they were talking about it now, Snake decided to just come out with something he’d never felt like he could bring up with anyone before. “Sometimes,” he confessed, “I’ve thought that something might be wrong with me, because everyone else around me has been like that. Like they can’t control themselves. I guess I’m just weird. But then I met you, and I’ve felt a lot of things I’ve never felt before. I don’t understand all of them. Not all of them are about sex, I don’t think, but some of them are. And I don’t know what to do. That’s why I said that stupid thing.” 

Miller put his fingers to his forehead, as if Snake’s entire existence was too much for him to wrap his head around at the moment. “You’re a young man at the peak of your physical fitness and sexual energy, you’re good-looking, you’re a goddamn war hero, and you’re _celibate_. What a waste. I might need to take you on as my _wakashû_ after all, just to put you out of your misery.” 

Snake perked up, but Miller quickly pointed at Snake and admonished him. “No. I am not what you need. You might think so, but that’s because you don’t know me.” 

Snake wanted to scoot a little closer to Miller before trying to change his mind, but he may have tried too hard and been a little compromised in the motor skills department, and so _surged_ toward him instead. “Will you let me know you? So I can decide that for myself?” 

Miller put his hand on Snake’s shoulder, just like he had the moment before the kidnapping. Snake immediately went on alert, but it was different this time, because he could see Miller’s eyes now, and there was no mischief in them, no guile. “I like you,” Miller said, “and I hope you’ll visit me and let me cook for you again, the next time we both have an evening off. But even if you don’t know everything there is to know about me, or everything you _want_ to know, you need to at least accept this: that I am an old man who didn’t have the sense to die before he was broken, and who is now stuck here because he has nowhere else to go, training promising young soldiers like you who have their whole lives ahead of them. You’re only here for a few more weeks, and then you’ll be gone, and forget all about me. So stop tormenting yourself while you’re here by being hung up on me, okay?” 

Snake started to say, “No, I’ll never forget you, you’re the most–” but Miller shushed him. 

“Don’t. You’re just going to embarrass yourself, and you don’t even have a good excuse, because I know you’re not drunk. You’re just a little tipsy, so you’ll remember this tomorrow. Do yourself a favor and don’t say whatever you think you need to say to me.” 

Snake looked at the door. He waited in vain for Miller to say something else, then mumbled, “I guess I better go, then.” Miller took his hand away and leaned back, not stopping him, so he stood up. But Miller did follow him, seeing him to the door and then watching him put his boots back on. When he observed that Snake could tie them with no trouble, he declared Snake fit to find his own way back to his barracks. Snake stood up straight and looked at a spot in the middle of Miller’s forehead, so he wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes. “Thank you for dinner. I’m sorry I made it weird.” 

“You’re fine. I’m glad we got a chance to talk, and I really do want you to come back and have dinner with me again sometime before you ship out.” He opened the door for Snake, who stepped out and began to walk away, down the hall. “Other way,” Miller said, pointing, and Snake was such a bundle of nervous anxiety, he couldn’t help but laugh at his own mistake, giving Miller a half-hearted salute and a silly grin as he turned around. He was pleased to see Miller suppressing a smile as he rolled his eyes and shook his head before closing the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Over the next few days, Snake watched as more of his fellow cadets began to return from their “camping trips,” as they jokingly called them. Some came back more or less intact, as Snake had, some came back limping on twisted ankles or with wounds from misadventure or animal attack – and some did not come back at all. Assurances were made that no one had died, they’d just washed out, but rumors abounded. Early returns began to place bets on who would turn up later, or not at all. Cadets who had developed close friendships with each other expressed elation when they found that both of them had made it back, others moped around, pining for their friends who’d washed out. Snake, having cultivated no companionships among the other cadets, felt nothing in particular about any of them, and continued with his duties, his drills, and his physical training. 

And then, abruptly, most everyone was gone again. But this time, it was not so unexpected. The Friday before Christmas was the last official day of training. Everyone who was left would get their assignments after the new year, but those who had families, or civilian friends, were given one round-trip ticket to anywhere in the United States and two weeks to visit them. FOXHOUND being the type of organization it was, it was unspoken but well understood that for some cadets, this could be the last time they got to visit their loved ones – missions might take them on years-long infiltrations, or might result in their untimely deaths. 

Many of the cadets who had no one to visit (and there were a few – after all, who would be more inclined to join FOXHOUND than those who had no one and nothing to lose?) still took advantage of the free plane ticket, and for the most part chose Hawaii. Snake overheard them all coordinating, pooling their money for a cheap hotel where they planned to sleep eight to a room, saving the rest for girls and booze. As for Snake himself, he was one of the very few who felt no particular inclination towards tropical climes and bikini-clad beachgoers, and stayed on base. It wasn’t so cold in this part of Alaska in wintertime – sometimes it even got above freezing. He was rewarded with skeleton-crew kitchen and janitorial duties, but that still left him with plenty of time to read, enjoy the quiet, and sometimes pet the cats who came around. 

One benefit of classes being over and the camp being nearly empty was that Snake could now visit the gym any time of day and not have to worry about it being crowded. In his day-to-day life, he sometimes felt so anti-social that he would sneak out of the barracks and work out in the middle of the night to avoid others – especially if he had trouble getting back to sleep after waking from a night terror. Now, he could go first thing in the morning if he felt like, with no competition for the machines. 

But when he walked into the gym on Saturday morning, and saw Master Miller there, he immediately forgot his desire for solitude. He wanted to race over and ask Miller if he needed a spotter. But good sense triumphed: he noticed that Miller was lifting dumbbells instead of barbells, a common choice made by people who wanted to do weight training alone and not have to worry about having a spotter. Snake decided instead to just wave at Miller between his sets, then make a show of how well he was respecting Miller’s personal space by jumping on a treadmill far away, where Miller would not have to look at him. 

Of course, Snake could see Miller very well, and allowed himself to be distracted from his own workout by watching him continue to lift weights. In a muscle shirt and track pants, only Miller’s arms were on display, but Snake had a good imagination. When he had finished his reps on the bench, Miller moved to a leg press machine – Snake guessed that the balance issues that his prosthesis gave him made squats more difficult. There were mirrors along one wall, but not where Miller could see what Snake was doing, so Snake got to look his fill at Miller’s body in rhythmic motion, his muscles flexing, his shoulders and arms glowing with perspiration. 

When he finished up, Miller grabbed his towel and made his way toward Snake, rather than the showers. Snake kept up his pace on the treadmill, not wanting to shut it off and seem overly eager to chat. Miller approached Snake as closely as he could and said, low and barely audible over the machine, “I heard they’re serving meatloaf in the mess hall tonight…or you could come over to my place and I’ll make burgers.” 

“Hell yeah,” Snake said with a grin, and Miller walked away. “Six?” Snake called after him, and Miller gave him a thumbs-up without looking back. 

Snake clenched his fists to restrain himself from leaping off the machine and following Miller into the showers, to watch him strip off his sweaty clothes and soap himself up. He knew if he did that and Miller didn’t care for it, his humiliation would ruin every good memory he had of Master Miller forever. Instead, he turned up the treadmill a notch for his last ten minutes.

***

Miller did most of the talking that evening while he cooked; Snake sat at the bar counter and listened as Miller recounted in astounding detail a personal mission he’d undertaken years ago: to cook the perfect hamburger. “I did all sorts of weird experiments,” he said, and described several of them. “But ultimately what I learned is that you don’t have to throw in a lot of bells and whistles to impress people. It’s a matter of quality basic ingredients, conscientious preparation, and perfect timing on the cooking.” He walked Snake through it as he went, and while Snake wasn’t the most fascinated he’d ever been by something Miller was talking about, he dared not let his eyes glaze over, for fear that he might miss some detail about exactly where Miller had _been _during this burger quest he’d gone on, and when it had happened. 

If nothing else, Snake had to admit that the burgers were amazing. Miller apologized for them nonetheless. “I like them better on a grill than in a pan.” He was also humble about the oven fries: “I had a deep-fryer, but the cleanup is horrendous and the smell gets in everything.” 

Snake asked, “Where did you learn to cook? I mean originally?” 

“My mom taught me the basics when I was eight or nine. I guess she anticipated that I would have to fend for myself before too much longer. After that, I cooked simple stuff to feed her and myself, and then later, wherever I traveled, I learned how to cook whatever the locals ate. I still liked Japanese food the best, especially curry, but the right ingredients were hardly ever available, so I always had to learn how to make the local stuff, so that I could work with whatever there was on hand.” He paused for a moment, and even with his aviators on appeared to be gazing into the distance. “I guess that’s a good metaphor for my life: working with what I had, trying not to pine for anything I lost along the way. Not always succeeding at it. But that’s too much for dinner conversation. What did you do this afternoon?” 

“Oh, um, I’m reading _Goodbye To All That_.” Actually, Snake had been re-reading _Watchmen_, but he was most of the way through _Goodbye To All That_ and planned to finish it soon, and thought that would be a more impressive title to drop. 

Miller nodded. “God, there’s so much in that book, so much.” 

There followed a very long conversation, lasting long after their plates were empty, which belied Miller’s claim that he did not want to talk about anything too sad. Instead of discussing the book’s more straightforward descriptions of combat, and the vagaries of British military life, they used Robert Graves’ memoirs to talk obliquely about their own shared experience with what Graves called _neurasthenia_ but which had more recently been dubbed _post-traumatic stress syndrome_. Neither of them admitted to actually having it themselves, but they revealed to each other a suspiciously intense sympathy for what Graves had been through. 

“I also thought it was interesting the way he described how the whole world changed after World War One,” Snake said. “I feel like Desert Storm didn’t change anything that wasn’t already changing. I know that was just a little war, though. But for Graves it was so different. He changed forever inside, and then he came back to a world that had also been turned upside-down.” 

“And it prompted him to abandon those few threads of moral continuity that seemed to be left.” As he spoke, Miller got up from the dining table, stacked the dishes in the kitchen, turned down the lights, and encouraged Snake to sit on the sofa with him, like he had the other night. “Graves called the book, ah, ‘my bitter leave-taking of England, where I had recently broken a good many conventions.’ I remember that from the foreword to the edition I read. I related to it, because at the time that I read it, I felt like I had been changed by fighting so much, not only was there no going back home, there was no finding a new home. The idea of having a country, calling it my own, feeling an allegiance to a chunk of land and the arbitrary lines drawn around it and the other people standing on it, it seemed so absurd. I think Graves saw the arbitrary lines drawn around all aspects of society, and found them equally ridiculous. It…well, by that time, I was already on my path to deviance, but I felt more justified after reading it in breaking all the rules, doing whatever I wanted.” 

Miller looked down. “Then again, people who follow the rules usually get to keep all their limbs.” 

Snake noted that this was the second time Master Miller had mentioned feeling vindicated in what he was doing with his life (whatever that actually _was_) after absorbing someone else’s opinion of that behavior. Miller always came off as supremely confident, but it seemed to Snake that he struggled with insecurities. Snake was not there to psychoanalyze, though, so he kept his observation to himself. Instead, he took the opportunity to ask about Miller’s limbs, since Miller was the one who’d brought it up in the first place. 

“I knew a couple of guys in the Gulf who lost an arm, or a leg. They told me they had that phantom limb syndrome. Do you still have that?” 

“I do, yeah. That never goes away, I don’t think, but even if it does for other people, I think I might be making mine worse by wearing this thing.” He gestured to his prosthetic arm. “This isn’t your ordinary consumer model, I’m sure you’ve noticed. I’ve got these electrodes implanted in my arm here,” he explained, “in the muscles and nerves. They can detect when my brain wants my arm or hand to move, and then the prosthesis translates those signals into movements. I’ve had it for about a year. Before that, the tech existed, but I’d still have had to wear it with a strap that goes all across here.” He gestured across his shoulder and chest. “I tried it, and the straps drove me nuts. I’d rather have gone without. But then the boys in the back room figured out how to lock it on to my shoulder and keep it stable through the full range of motion. So this was a gift, a sign-on bonus from FOXHOUND. I wonder sometimes if it’s tricking my body more than a simpler prosthesis would, prolonging my brain’s belief that I ought to be feeling pain there, because of the way it uses its signals so perfectly.” 

It hurt Snake’s heart to think of Master Miller suffering, and while on one hand, he knew that Miller was smart, and had probably thought of every possible way to alleviate this misery, Snake also intuited that Miller might refuse things that would make him feel better if he believed that his pain had become an inextricable part of his identity. That was not exactly uncommon among solders. Still, if that were the case, Snake felt he had to try to convince Miller that things didn’t have to be that way. “Is it only pain?” he asked. “Do you ever think that you’re feeling good feelings?” 

Miller scoffed at the very idea. “It’s never even occurred to me that the phantom feelings could be good,” he said. 

“Could I try?” 

Miller’s brow furrowed. “Try what?” 

Snake lifted his hand as if to reach out for Miller’s arm, but then just pointed at it. “How much trouble is it to take it off?” 

Miller answered by removing it in a few simple motions borne of practice. He looked Snake in the eye as he revealed his stump, daring Snake to react honestly to it. Snake didn’t feel one way or the other about it; he’d seen far more gruesome sights in his life. 

“Okay,” Snake said, “close your eyes.” He inched closer to Miller on the sofa. He had no idea if what he was going to try had any chance of working, but he just couldn’t stand to leave Miller alone about things if there was a chance he could be the one to make it better. “I’m going to touch your hand. It’s, um, it’s resting on the couch, palm-down, and I’m going to touch it.” He made the motion, stroking an imaginary hand where Miller’s would be, close enough to Miller’s thigh that he ought to have been able to sense the gesture. 

“I don’t feel it,” Miller said flatly, after only a few seconds. 

Snake rolled his eyes; Miller was probably just being stubborn. “Okay, well I’m still touching it, though. Are you sure you don’t feel it? My finger is skimming over each of your knuckles, starting with your pinky and moving inward.” Snake’s hand moved fluidly, acting out his narration with every ounce of sincerity he could muster. “Now I’m stroking the back of your hand, tracing the veins. I’m going to slide my fingers between your thumb and index now, and grasp your hand.” 

Miller inhaled sharply. 

Snake froze for an instant, stunned that it had actually worked. But he could not let his smooth confidence falter. He said, “Can you feel me squeezing it?” 

“Yes,” Miller gasped. The rise and fall of his chest was shallow, but rapid. “It’s warm.” 

Certain that Miller’s eyes were closed, Snake indulged in a smug smile. “Can you squeeze back, and show me how strong you are?” 

Miller just let out a soft groan, and the stump of his arm twitched. 

Snake said, “Now I’m moving up to encircle your wrist with my fingers. I’m going to touch the veins here on your arm as I work my way up. I’m caressing all the fine hairs. Just barely touching them now, not even touching your skin.” 

Miller was slack-jawed now, panting. Snake did not let up, and in fact grew bolder with the things he said. 

“Now I’m feeling the curve of your bicep. I can tell how hard you work to keep your body in good shape, and it...it makes me excited to think about.” 

Snake looked up from his work and examined Miller’s face closely. In the dim light, he could barely make out the streaks of the tears that had spilled down his cheeks. Snake was sure that now was the perfect moment, the only possible moment: he leaned over and kissed Miller on his parted lips. 

Miller responded instantly and intensely, grabbing the back of Snake’s neck and keeping him close, returning the kiss fiercely. When Snake opened his mouth to make a little surprised noise, Miller pressed his tongue inside, and Snake got a sudden, all-over shiver. He had not spent a lot of time thinking about what a kiss would feel like, but whatever he had imagined, it was not like this. This was messy and humid, and it had a taste and a smell, not just a feel. His whole body responded to it; every touch of their tongues caused an electric jolt to shoot down his limbs and into his core. He’d had no idea, he thought it was just about mouths. 

Everything about what they were doing made him want to be closer to Miller still, as close as he could get. He hauled himself up into Miller’s lap, meeting no resistance as he did so, and for a while longer they just panted and gasped into each other’s mouths, tongues out and sliding over one another. Snake forgot about Miller’s phantom arm, and directed his attention to getting his hands under Miller’s shirt, feeling the heat of his bare skin. 

Without properly breaking away, Miller breathed against Snake’s mouth, “I tried, I really did. I tried to refuse you.” He kissed Snake some more, then said, “But I’m just as weak as I ever was. I never learned to resist this kind of temptation. If you insist on my initiating you sexually, I have no choice but to accept. Is that what you want? Do you want me to be your mentor in this too?” 

Snake was begging “Yes, _yes_” before Miller had even finished the question. Miller threaded his fingers into Snake’s hair, tugging on it and forcing him to retreat, just a little. 

“In that case,” he said, “can I take you to bed? I’m too old to be trying to accomplish anything on a couch, or at least one this small.” 

Snake buried his face in Miller’s neck and whined, “_Please_.” 

Miller nudged Snake to indicate that if he wanted that to happen, he would have to get up, and let Miller up. Snake toppled off the couch, not having noticed that his legs had fallen asleep as he’d been sitting on them. He steadied himself and followed Miller into the bedroom. 

Though Snake was brimming with adrenaline, getting to this point was not like he had seen in the movies. There was no tangle of limbs as two entwined bodies struggled to remain upright while moving to the nearest horizontal surface, no sweeping a table clear because getting to a more suitable venue seemed too much effort. Miller just walked him into this quiet room. 

Miller flicked on one very dim lamp, which illuminated the room hardly at all, but Snake’s eyes were sharp. He could see at a glance that this small but tidy room saw mostly practical use as a place to read and sleep – there was a bed big enough for two, but both pillows were stacked on one side of it, and the only other furniture was a single nightstand on that same side of the bed, a tall bookshelf, and a chair, next to which leaned a crutch, maybe for days that were more difficult for Miller, or times when he could not wear his prosthesis. On the walls were a few framed prints, all of Alaskan scenery and wildlife. Miller was a practical man, but clearly appreciated a touch of form with his function. 

When he reached the edge of the bed, Miller turned to face Snake. He cupped Snake’s face in his palm, tilting it so Snake was looking at him. “I know you can keep secrets,” he said, “and I know that you know how to interact properly with officers in public, otherwise you would not be at FOXHOUND.” 

“Yes,” said Snake. 

“What happens here in my home has nothing to do with what happens outside of it. No matter what goes on in here, you do not change your behavior towards me or anyone else when you leave.” 

Snake maintained eye contact with Miller, determined to communicate with him how seriously he took this. “Got it.” 

“Other people are keeping an eye on you who are not me. Ultimately, all they care about is if an agent can flawlessly carry out any mission given to them, but their criteria for what might compromise one’s abilities can be unpredictable.” 

“I understand.” 

Miller’s expression softened, and he looked Snake up and down. “As for myself, I don’t wish to hurt you, but I can’t control your feelings. You’re taking the risks here.” 

“I know.” Snake put his hand over Miller’s as he closed his eyes. “But if you’re giving me this chance...I know I’ll regret it if I don’t take it. I can’t spend my life wondering what it would have been like.” 

“I understand that feeling,” Miller said, and his hand slid down Snake’s shoulder and over his chest, until he was touching the hem of his t-shirt. “I’m not saying it’s wise, but I get it. Just know that this won’t be a forever thing, but I’ll try to make it good while it lasts. Something you can look back on without regret.” 

Grasping Snake’s shirt, he pulled it up slowly, beginning a lengthy process of revealing Snake’s body inch by inch, and clearly relishing every moment of it. Snake stood still and watched Miller’s face, feeling strange but good about the cold delight he saw there. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew he had a nice body, but it had never meant much to him in terms of other people being attracted to him, of being a sex object. He used his body to do his job, that was all. He didn’t think of himself in parts, of the rock-hardness of his abs or the swell of his pecs and biceps, of strong calves and thick thighs and an ass you could bounce a coin off of, but rather as a machine, whole and interlocking. It made his stomach flutter when he realized that he was being devoured piece by piece by Miller’s greedy gaze. When his shirt was gathered up around his armpits, he lifted his arms, and in one smooth motion Miller pulled the whole thing off him, revealing much more of his useful instrument. 

But Snake wasn’t just here to be the youthful object of adoration. He had curiosities too, which he desperately wanted to satisfy. He clutched Miller’s shirt the same as had been done to him, and Miller lifted his arm with a soft hum, perfectly happy, it seemed, to comply with his student’s whims. 

Miller’s body was crisscrossed with scars, some cleanly-stitched, some wide and ragged. Snake knew what a healed bullet wound looked like, what a knife slash looked like, and he saw them here. Miller’s muscled chest and arm were a testament to extreme dedication; at his age and with his disability, resisting the slow slide into sedentary pudge was a monumental feat. But Snake knew that it was not a joyful pastime for Miller, to maintain this body. Everything about him screamed anger, a life that sustained its momentum through a rage which was tightly-managed now but which certainly had not always been. It saddened Snake, and though at first he reached out to touch Miller’s scars with his fingertips, he quickly flattened his palms against the planes of his belly and chest, wondering if it would ever be possible to soothe this man – not just give him a few cheap moments of pleasure, but true solace – hoping that if anyone could do it, it was him. 

Miller gave no indication that he found Snake’s hands healing in any way, but he allowed Snake to give him this attention for a while. He did not stop Snake even as he went to unbutton Snake’s jeans with one deft hand; but now Miller’s arm was in the way, and so instead Snake assisted him, pushing his fingers into the waistband to help push his jeans and boxers to the floor in one go. His cock sprang up when freed of its confines. Snake was embarrassed by his excitement; he stepped out of his jeans and quickly sat down on the bed to remove his socks, blushing while he did so because he thought he looked silly as long as he still had only them on and a rock-hard erection. If Miller cared one way or the other about it, he said nothing. 

From his seated position, Snake looked up at Miller, who was not quite close enough to be considered “looming” but was close enough for Snake to reach out and unbutton the fly of his fatigue trousers. Once he had done this, though, he was both shy and unsure about what came next: should he reach in and start doing things to Miller’s cock without actually taking it out, to tease him? Should he pull everything down and reveal it, and then let Miller do whatever he wanted with it? Miller saw his hesitation, and helped a little, by pushing aside the fabric just enough so his half-hard cock tumbled into view. Before he could hide it, Snake’s expression gave away the briefest disappointment, but Miller explained, “When you’re my age, it takes a little more than a stiff breeze to get going. Just give me a minute.” 

Again, he gave Snake the opportunity to get an eyeful, fondling himself to improve his erection, which Snake liked; he wanted Master Miller to be hard for him. Then Miller pushed his trousers the rest of the way down, and stepped out of them, and Snake saw the rest of his prosthetic leg. 

It was built in the same way that his arm was, a curving, stylized version of a human limb, with the moving parts in black silicone and the rest in gleaming silver. 

Miller sat down next to Snake as he said, “Most of this is cosmetic, just plating over the same basic aluminum rod. Civilians still have to choose between something that looks nice and something that is comfortable and useful. This one’s both; I guess that’s one of the perks of being part of an elite top-secret organization that doesn’t officially exist and will never publicly acknowledge or reward any sacrifice you make for them.” 

He showed Snake how to remove the device, and once he had, he scooted himself around Snake and laid down flat on his back on the bed. He gave Snake and inviting look, patted his chest, and said, “Why don’t you come get on top of me, if you haven’t changed your mind about this.” 

“No, not at all,” Snake said. “It doesn’t...” He wanted to say something like, _It doesn’t matter to me what you look like. I like you for who you are as a person_, but thankfully he realized how corny and stupid that sounded before it came out of his mouth. He didn’t try to finish the sentence he’d begun, he just accepted the invitation, scooting over and straddling Miller’s thighs and tilting forward, bracing himself on both hands, his arms shaking as their hard cocks brushed against each other. 

Snake had never imagined how nice it could be to just feel another person’s skin against his own. He had always thought that by gripping his own dick, he could guess at how sex felt – and when he’d been in the Middle East, where unlike in most wartime scenarios the local women were completely unavailable, he sometimes overheard his fellow soldiers describing improvised masturbation devices which were apparently indistinguishable from “the real thing” – Snake had never been particularly motivated to attempt to construct one, himself. But he had never heard anyone talking about how _this_ felt, how one might substitute _this_ feeling, of just being close to someone and enjoying the warmth of their skin. It probably couldn’t be done. 

Snake rolled his hips, savoring every sensation: Master Miller’s skin was smooth, save for a soft thatch of pubic hair that tickled Snake’s belly and hip; his foreskin was velvety-soft over his now fully-hard and blood-hot prick; his left hand firmly held the curve of Snake’s ass and encouraged him to move. Snake was greedy for something more, and breathed, “Can we kiss again?” 

“Of course,” Miller said, and moved his hand to the back of Snake’s neck to guide him down. Kissing was a hundred times more intense than rubbing; when their mouths met, Snake felt sparks in his belly, and when Miller slipped his tongue between Snake’s parted lips, the sparks turned to lightning bolts. 

Miller sensed his growing agitation, and to encourage it, reached between their bodies to stroke Snake off a little. As his hand captured Snake’s cock, Snake broke the kiss to gasp, “No, don’t touch it! I’m gonna–_unh!_” His knees turned to water as he ejaculated abruptly all over Miller’s hand and belly. 

Snake looked at the clock on the bedside table. It had only been three minutes since they’d lain down together. “I’m sorry,” he said, humiliated. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Miller said. “As brief as that was, it was very nice to watch. Hand me my shirt, will you?” 

Snake reached over the edge of the bed, brought Miller’s shirt up from the floor, and Miller used it to clean up the mess a little. 

“You like me that much, huh?” he said, shockingly casual about what had happened. “How about now that you’ve calmed down a little, you can work on me, and then when you get hard again, we can finish a little closer together.” 

Miller was right; it wouldn’t be long before Snake would be ready to go again. In fact, though it was less of a problem than it had been when he was a teenager, Snake still had trouble with a dick that occasionally demanded release several times in a day. It did nothing to help him feel like a normal person, as it tended to happen not when someone attractive caught his eye, but when he felt a rush of adrenaline from a dangerous situation. Even a well-crafted combat simulation could make him throb, and that was irritating as well as awkward. This evening, though, he had a feeling that he could find it in himself to get another hard-on about an actual sexual situation, and so not feel weird about it. 

Snake sat back on Miller’s thighs, looking up and down his body, not so much concerned about pleasing Miller as he was interested in satisfying his own desires to touch and learn. In this case, the latter did not compromise the former at all; Miller seemed happy to let Snake take his time and slide his hands over every inch of skin he could see. He lingered over scars, tracing them with his fingers. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how you got any of these.” 

Miller hummed contemplatively, looking past bullet wounds and lacerations to point to a short, clean scar on his belly. “Appendectomy when I was nineteen.” He deadpanned, “Definitely the most dramatic and exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“I’ll bet,” Snake said with a smirk. “Fine then, I’ll just have to grow more entranced by your irresistible mystique.” 

“You know, no one gives you credit for being funny,” Miller said. 

“Oh yeah? Was that not mentioned in my FOXHOUND dossier?” 

“Not a word about it.” 

Snake shrugged, and started to play with Miller’s cock. “Maybe you could put in a good word for me.” 

“...Are we still talking about you being funny?” 

Miller’s cock was uncut, like Snake’s own, and just a little bigger – but he was bigger overall, taller. Snake gripped it and stroked it, remarking, “It feels different than touching my own.” 

“Might be because you’re facing it from the other direction. Your grip is reversed, see.” Miller took Snake’s hand in his own, moving and twisting it back and forth. “Normally your fingers are here, but now they’re here.” 

“Oh, I didn’t think of that.” 

“Yeah, some guys, it messes with their head just to have that much difference in their routine. If you’re ever jerking a guy off like this, and he’s having trouble getting off, try facing the same way as him, so you’re gripping him the same as when he does it himself.” 

Snake wasn’t sure if this was the beginning of a lesson, or a hint. He didn’t want to guess wrong. “Do you need me to do that?” he asked. 

“Nah, I never made the mistake of training my dick to only respond to one kind of stimulation, so I’m not that picky. I’m just taking my time, enjoying the view.” Miller laid his hand on Snake’s thigh, stroking it idly. Snake used his free hand to touch Miller’s belly and chest; he was already getting hard again just from having access to Miller’s whole body, being able to look at it and touch it as much as he liked. 

Miller slid his hand up and cupped Snake’s ass, encouraging him to scoot forward, until their cocks were aligned. Then he collected both in his hand, and stroked them together. Snake took his hand away and just watched. 

“Come back here,” Miller said, “put your hand on mine, we’ll do it together.” 

From a purely mechanical standpoint, it was more awkward than regular jerking off, but it was also much more exciting. Not only did he have Miller’s hand surrounding him, he had Miller’s cock against his own – he could feel it throbbing and twitching, and it was so hot, hotter than his hand. Bursts of pre-come under their foreskins made delicious naughty wet noises as their cocks slid back and forth in their tight grip. Miller sighed, “That’s real nice. I’m close, how about you?” 

“Uh huh,” Snake said, and only then noticed that his mouth had been hanging open. 

Miller pumped his hips, pushing his cock into their shared grip, and Snake began to pant with anticipation. Now he could savor the buildup more, and so his second orgasm was sweeter than the first.

He could also feel all the little twitches and jerks as Miller found his completion at the same time. Miller grunted, then whispered, “Fuck, that’s good” as he squeezed a final shuddering gush out of both of them. Snake felt Miller’s whole body relax beneath him, not having even realized until just then how tense things had gotten at the end. 

Snake grabbed the already-soiled shirt and wiped down their bellies, and cleaned Miller’s hand when he held it out, palm up. After that, he gave in to his desire for closeness, sighing like it was fatigue, and laid down on top of Miller, who did not discourage this at all, tenderly caressing his back and shoulders as they lay quiet and sated. 

When they had begun touching each other, Snake had not been sure how different it would be from just jerking off – he hadn’t even been sure if what they were doing really counted as sex. But now he knew how profoundly different it felt from when he was by himself. Sharing an orgasm with Miller made him feel soft and vulnerable, and he had no idea what to do with that, so he just laid on Miller’s chest, letting his body rise and fall with Miller’s breathing, until he was gently dumped to one side with the explanation that Miller had to get up for a piss. 

***

In the morning, Miller let Snake sleep in, and cooked him breakfast, but told him he couldn’t stay all day – Miller wanted to get to the gym, and then he had some things he’d been planning to take care of with his time off, both personal stuff and FOXHOUND business. But, he said as they ate, Snake was welcome to come over the following day for dinner, and they could spend the evening together again. 

“Maybe we could go out?” Snake suggested. Miller’s expression made his blood run cold, and he immediately backpedaled. “Not that I don’t like your cooking or anything. But I thought we could do something together off-base.” 

“This is an _affair_,” Miller said, “not a courtship. You want wining and dining, find yourself a girl. If anyone catches me doing anything besides ordering you to drop and give me fifty, or maybe build a shelter out of fly-wings, there could be trouble.” 

Snake cringed at being shut down, but quickly recovered with a new suggestion: “What about judo practice at the gym? Surely that would be above-board. Cadets spar with instructors all the time.” 

Miller thought about it for a minute while he chewed. “You’re on,” he said at last. “Meet me tomorrow at three. We’ll do a session, and then come back here for dinner. But we’ll have to arrive and leave separately.” He pointed with his fork. “And no monkey business in public.” 

Snake nodded, trying to hold back an elated grin. “Of course.” 

***

Miller was a formidable judo opponent. Not that Snake had any doubt, even with a missing arm and leg. In fact, his prostheses may have helped him, state-of-the-art as they were. But Miller also clearly had wisdom and patience on his side. He knew his own body and its capabilities, and expertly compensated for any shortcomings he might have had. He threw, swept, and held Snake with ease – which Snake didn’t mind; he loved the challenge of a more skilled opponent. 

He also relished the close physical contact with Miller. He had an erection for most of the session, but Miller gave no indication that he noticed it, which demonstrated monumental restraint, as in judo, one must always be looking at your opponent’s waist, because the hips telegraphed movement much more than the hands and feet. Snake wondered whether, in these circumstances, his arousal was a liability or an asset, from a psychological standpoint. In any case, he tried to ignore it, and show Miller that he wasn’t just a kid with controllable impulses (though apparently he was that). 

Snake had mixed feelings about putting Miller off balance, throwing him without mercy when he had the opportunity; it seemed rude to do to him. Ultimately, however, he reasoned that sympathy for a willing opponent would only cost him – Miller no doubt _wanted_ him to be ruthless, and Snake observed that Miller’s falling techniques were impeccable. 

Eventually, Snake was throwing Miller more often than not, and Miller called the session off. “Don’t think you’ve improved that much in an hour,” he said, out of breath. “You’re just taking advantage of an old man who gets worn out easily.” Snake looked at him, worried that perhaps there would be no sex tonight, if Miller was that exhausted. But Miller seemed to sense what he was thinking. “But not _that_ worn out, don’t worry. I’m gonna shower up at home. Meet me there in an hour.”


	10. Chapter 10

Snake stood outside Miller’s door for half a minute without knocking. He realized, as he was approaching, that things were different than they had been two days ago. He and Master Miller were lovers now, and frankly he didn’t know what to do with himself. How should he behave when he was welcomed inside? What should he do differently to distinguish the present from the past? All the information he’d collected about what constituted “normal” romantic behavior had come from heterosexual relationships on television and in the movies, and he had no idea where the overlap was between “normal” and himself. For instance, should he greet Master Miller with a kiss on the cheek? Such a conventional display of affection didn’t seem to fit their interpersonal dynamic. 

His train of thought was interrupted by Miller opening the door. “Are you gonna stand out there all day, or what?” Snake was chastened; he was sure his approach had been perfectly silent, but Miller was no ordinary man himself. Miller left the door open and returned his attention to the stove. Snake came in and closed the door, still fidgeting over his internal question, but Miller was unconcerned. He pointed and said, “There’s something on the table for you.” 

Relieved to be given something to do, Snake walked over and picked up a bundle of tri-folded pages from the table. He unfolded them; they looked like test results, lots of letters and numbers that did not immediately mean anything to him. At the top was a serial number, a date of birth, and a name: **MILLER, MCDONELL BENEDICT FKA MILLER, KAZUHIRA**. Snake’s heart skipped a beat; he’d never managed to wrangle Master Miller’s first name out of anyone on the base, and had never had the guts to ask Miller himself what it was – he’d figured if Miller wanted him to know it, he would have volunteered it. He was so excited to have this most basic piece of information, he lost all hope of concentrating enough to decipher the rest of the document. Thankfully, Miller explained: “What you said the other day, about AIDS, I took it to heart, so I got that taken care of yesterday. You can see there, I’m clean.” 

With this context, Snake took a second look, and indeed, one line of the document said **HIV 1/2 ORDER #1400938 NON REACTIVE.** As he scanned the remaining pages, he picked out negative results for gonorrhea, syphilis, and some other things that Snake had not even heard of. 

“When I was young,” Miller said, “the worst you could get was a dose of the clap. Shot of penicillin would clear that right up, so who cared. It wasn’t worth wearing a condom, not even with a girl if she was on the pill, or said she was. I don’t envy you kids these days.” 

Snake put the papers back on the table. “I’m clean too, but I don’t have the paperwork on me to prove it.” 

“Don’t worry, I looked at your file myself.” 

Snake nodded. That was sensible. He pushed the papers around on the table. “So this means we don’t have to use a condom?” 

“Not unless you’re worried about getting pregnant.” Snake chuckled at this; Miller did not even smile. He knew when he’d said something funny, he never felt the need to punctuate it with his own reaction. “We can still use condoms if you want to, but yeah, that’s what those results mean.” 

“Sure, okay,” Snake said softly, unable to articulate how it made him feel to know that the notorious Hell Master, who struck fear into the hearts of every cadet (including himself), had been so kind and conscientious as to make the effort to assure him that they could safely pursue the absolute most intimate physical connection, the sharing of bodily fluids. 

It was much more difficult to sit politely and eat the meal that Miller had cooked for him that evening; he wanted to rush through it and get to whatever sharing of fluids was going to happen afterwards. Miller helped him keep himself in check by behaving as if nothing of an illicit nature would be happening later: he did not flirt, or drop innuendos, or allow even the slightest smirk to cross his lips at any point. They talked about the bootleg copy of _Army of Darkness_ that was making its way around the base, and both men expressed a desire to have better access to recent movies – the nearest cinema was sixty miles away, not ideal for a simple evening’s entertainment. 

But all the while, Snake’s toes wiggled with anticipation under his chair, and his hand clenched his fork to keep from gobbling his food, being done, and more or less diving into the bedroom. Or the sofa; he wasn’t particular. He consoled himself with Master Miller’s clothed, casual presence, which he’d gotten to know well enough to anticipate his little tics and gestures – the way he would nudge his drink around, the subtle clearing of his throat right before he changed the topic of discussion. 

When Miller finally stood to clear the dishes, Snake hurried things along by collecting his own and taking them to the sink. Only then did Miller utter a little amused noise. “I know, I know, it’s time to screw around.” He set his dishes in the basin next to Snake’s, and turned to gather Snake up in his arms, murmuring in his ear. “Or has it been time to screw around for the last hour?” 

Snake blushed deeply. “Maybe,” he said. 

“We’ve got all night. Do you want it to be over so soon?” 

That was a good point. “Whatever you think is best,” Snake said. 

Miller snorted. “You trust my judgment in a way no one has in a long time – which is probably a mistake on your part. But I’ll try not to let you down. Come on.” He put his hand on Snake’s shoulder and let him lead them to the bedroom. 

After they had gotten each others’ clothes off, standing at the edge of the bed, Snake waited to see if, like last time, Miller was going to remove his prostheses. He did not. Instead, the first thing he did was place the thumb of his left hand against Snake’s lower lip. “You ready for tonight’s lesson?” 

Snake suddenly had a pretty good idea of what the lesson was going to be about. He opened his mouth a little and dipped his head just far enough to take that thumb between his lips. He suckled on it, closing his eyes, embarrassed about how erotic he found it, about how salaciously he was behaving. 

“Now, were you telling me the truth the other night?” Miller asked. “You’ve never been with anyone before me?” 

Snake shook his head once, and sucked on Miller’s thumb a little more. 

“You’ve never given a blowjob before?” 

Snake shook his head again, and this time looked Miller in the eyes, keeping still. 

“Well, you’re clearly a natural, but as always, it’s lecture first, then workshop.” 

Miller slowly slid his thumb out of Snake’s mouth, letting it linger on his lower lip. He gestured for Snake to get on the bed. Snake sat on the edge of the mattress; not satisfied with this, Miller knelt on the bed, wrapped one arm around Snake’s shoulders, shoved the other arm under Snake’s knees, picked him up, and plopped him into the middle of the bed, surveying the results with a look of mild satisfaction. He crawled over Snake’s body, their mouths meeting once more for kisses. Snake’s arms instinctively went around Miller’s body. Miller lowered himself until he was half on top of Snake but with most of his weight on the mattress, then broke the kiss. 

“Before we get started, I want to know what you know. Or what you _think_ you know. You ever watch a porn movie where someone got a blowjob?” 

“Yeah, a couple videos at a neighbor kid’s house in high school.” Snake blushed to think of it. 

“Okay, forget all that. You didn’t learn anything from that. I don’t like porn for the same reason I don’t like other people’s curry – I’m very picky, and I’d rather do it myself than put up with or have to reflexively critique what other people think constitutes quality.” Miller rolled off Snake, and they lay side by side on the mattress, Snake propping himself up on his elbow while he listened to Miller’s lesson. “Blowjobs in porn are all about the spectacle, the gimmicks. You don’t need gimmicks. You gotta know not to use your teeth, and everything else is pretty instinctive. You don’t need to know how to deep throat. I can’t do it, and I was not exactly a prude in my time. I just can’t keep from gagging. But who cares. You use your hand on everything you can’t fit in your mouth. Problem solved. See, that’s the secret, the thing everyone acts like they don’t know: blowjobs are by default, at the baseline, unbelievably intimate. Putting your mouth on someone’s genitals? Requires so much trust. It can be an intense power play. That’s why ninety percent of giving a blowjob is just showing up. What makes it better is turning that intimacy factor up to eleven. You don’t have to do tricks to make it good, you just have to do it like you love it. And if you’re with the right person, you won’t have to pretend that you love it. I’m gonna give you a demonstration. On you. Afterward, I’m gonna see what you’ve learned. So take notes, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Miller re-positioned himself on top of Snake, saying as he did so, “I have two rules. Not everyone has two rules, but I do, and if you disobey them, the lesson is over. First, you do not touch my face, head, or neck. I am in charge, and if you want something, you ask for it. You don’t push my head down.” 

Snake nodded. 

“Second, you warn me when you’re coming. Doesn’t have to be a big production, you just say ‘I’m gonna,’ and we’re golden, okay?” 

“Got it.” 

“Good.” Miller kissed him again, slowly but closed-mouth. “You’re a good student, I know you’ll make me proud.” 

Snake’s chest got tight; he’d been waiting for months to hear a simple declaration like that, albeit in a very different context up until recently. A soft moan escaped his lips to hear Miller’s unadulterated praise. He had no time to dwell on it, though, because Miller quickly distracted him by dropping more lingering kisses on his chin and neck, while his left hand traced lazy circles over Snake’s chest and belly. 

When Master Miller had told Snake that he was going to receive a blowjob, Snake had figured that meant something pretty straightforward: Miller was going to suck his dick. He had no idea that “blowjob” meant “Master Miller is going to methodically make love to your entire body.” Kisses to his neck, sucking on his nipples, those seemed like reasonable preludes, sure. But twenty minutes in, when Miller was kissing the insides of his thighs, not having so much as looked at his cock yet, Snake finally accepted that this was no ordinary experience. 

Everything about Miller’s prolonged attention was nice, putting Snake in a docile, dreamy state, but he particularly liked having his nipples played with. When he observed Snake’s enthusiastic reaction, Miller took a moment to explain that nipples could be the fussiest but the most rewarding erogenous zone. The wrong kind of stimulation, delivered at the wrong time, could be boring or painful, but if you took the time to discover just what worked and how much of it, you could drive a person out of their mind with arousal – and keep them there as long as you liked, as the ability to orgasm from nipple play alone was exceedingly rare. 

What Snake discovered about himself was that one had to be gentle at first; just light flicks of the tongue went a long way. But once he was squirming with need, it felt so good to have them sucked that Snake almost forgot about the blowjob – until Miller’s mouth was suddenly absent, replaced by gentle pinches with his first two fingers, and instead Snake felt Miller’s lips pressing wetly against the head of his aching cock, gentle but absolutely filthy. 

If Snake was able to restrain himself from coming in a few seconds, it was only because he was forcing himself to concentrate on what Miller was doing in an abstract way, to learn from it. When Miller slid his tongue-tip all around the crown of his cock, then up and over the slit, Snake catalogued the pleasure, made a mental note to reciprocate this act when it was his turn. Miller showed him all sorts of sensitive places on his own body, and all kinds of ways of stimulating those parts: licking his balls, then cradling them in his hand, then gently squeezing them, while gusting hot breath across his cock, over the exquisitely tender skin over his hips. 

But these little favors eventually gave way to quiet, steady stimulation, as Miller took Snake slowly into his mouth and began to suck rhythmically. He was engulfed in blissful warmth and lewd wetness, an incredible sensation that had him arching. Snake stopped trying so hard to hold back, for he understood that Miller was ready for him to finish any time now. He remembered what he’d been told, about politeness, and said, “I’m gonna come soon. Okay, now, _now_, I’m _coming_—” His vision went white as he emptied himself in the glorious heat of Miller’s mouth. 

Save for the oversensitized convulsions of his limbs, Snake came down from his orgasm paralyzed with the shock of what he’d just experienced. His breath came in ragged gasps as Miller crawled up his body and lay alongside him. Miller gently stroked and played with his hair, saying nothing, giving him time to recover. 

When Snake remembered how to close his mouth, he did so, then opened it again to say, “That was really, um, good, thank you.” Were you supposed to thank someone for a blowjob? What about if it was explicitly a lesson? Well, it was too late not to say it. 

Miller just gave a little hum in response, and said, “It was my pleasure. I promise, it doesn’t get any better than you when you’re flushed and wiggling for me.” That was sort of nice but also embarrassing to hear; Snake was still not used to the idea of being a sex object. 

Snake knew he now had a job to do, himself, but he asked, “Can I have another minute to just lie here?” 

“Of course, take your time. But if you fall asleep, I will wake you up.” 

“I won’t fall asleep. I want to do it to you. I want it real bad, but…I can’t move yet.” 

“You flatter me. I like that.” Miller patted Snake’s chest affectionately, then rolled away and sat up. Snake lifted his head to see that Miller was removing his prostheses. Snake sat up too, reflexively wanting to assist, though he realized after he moved that such a thing was not necessary, nor had it been asked for. 

Miller laid down on his back and encouraged Snake to kneel perpendicular to him, at his left side. Snake had seen all of Miller’s naked body already, but in this position, he was seeing some things much more close up now, like the light, almost invisible fuzz on his belly, that gradually became the blond bush around his cock. Snake became so fascinated, he nearly forgot that he was supposed to be sucking Miller off. It was just that, having dark hair himself, he had never had the chance to examine fine golden hair like Miller had. Miller was patient with him, confident no doubt that Snake would get around to it eventually, and allowed him to indulge his curiosity in the meantime Snake was also captivated by the smooth texture of his ruddy nipples, the arch of his bare throat when he tilted his head back, the vulnerability expressed by the expansion of his chest with each breath. 

At last, and with some trepidation, Snake held Miller in his hand and stuck out the tip of his tongue to take his very first taste of cock. The little bead he collected from the tip was salty, but inoffensive. Snake saw no reason not to start applying what he’d learned, imitating the techniques Miller had demonstrated on him. He kissed and licked, wanting Miller to know that he was enthusiastic but remembering what he’d said about pornos being fake and being careful not to make it too theatrical. 

He also remembered what Master Miller had said about not having to deep throat, but as he closed his lips over the head, he was curious to see how much he could comfortably take without practice. It turned out, quite a lot, although the word “comfortable” lost more and more of its meaning as he went. He didn’t go so far as to start gagging, but it wasn’t easy to have his mouth so full of cock that it was hitting his soft palate. 

Oddly – or perhaps not – the thing it made Snake think of was his SCUBA training. He remembered when he was suited up and fully submerged for the first time, how he’d had to fight the urge to panic and rip the breathing apparatus out of his mouth. His rational mind had known perfectly well that the device was delivering oxygen to him, keeping him alive in a hostile environment, but his lizard brain was screaming at him that he had an obstruction in his mouth and he needed to get it out, _now_. His diving instructor had told him that this was common, that even veteran firefighters would scorch their lungs tearing out their oxygen masks in burning buildings when panic took over. 

Snake fought not to think of these grim things – something he often struggled with, especially after the war – and tried to focus on the most appealing, sensual, erotic aspects of what he was doing. Like his mouth, Miller’s cock had a texture and taste all its own, rich and earthy, its aroma sour but sweet. Snake breathed it in while he ran both hands up and down the smooth skin of Miller’s inner thighs. He listened to Miller’s breaths, still slow and even but with a soft vocalization each time he exhaled. 

Snake also retreated just to the point where he felt more comfortable, and used his hand to make up the difference. He explored Miller minutely with his tongue, using the tip to test out all those most sensitive places. Miller’s increasing excitement was evident – his breathing became more ragged, and sometimes he would breathe, “_Yes_.” 

It dawned on Snake that this was where the joy of it came from: bestowing achingly intimate pleasure on someone using your mouth, hearing all their little noises that they couldn’t hold back. It made him feel powerful, and that made it sexy. He licked his lips and rolled Miller’s glans around on his tongue and nursed it. Everything was hot and wet and sloppy; having something so big in his mouth was making him salivate, and he drooled down Miller’s shaft, using his spit to make the grip of his hand on the root more slick. He couldn’t keep from making slurping noises, and hearing them, he started to get turned on again. Miller noticed Snake’s erection hanging between his legs, and muttered, “Good, that’s good.” He touched Snake’s hip and encouraged him to pivot his body closer. That way, he could cup Snake’s ass, and then reach between his legs and stroke his dick with the same rhythm he was using to suck. 

Soon, Snake was making more noise than Miller, moaning and whimpering around Miller’s cock as he sucked harder and with more enthusiasm. Miller touched the bead of pre-come that was gathering at the tip of Snake’s cock and threatening to drop. “_Mm_, does sucking my cock make you feel good?” Miller breathed urgently. “Does my—oh _fuck_, here it comes.” 

Moments later, Miller’s body shook, his noises soft but strained, and he spilled into Snake’s mouth. Snake struggled with trying to swallow it all as expertly as had been done to him, but his timing was off, and some of it dribbled out and over Miller’s shaft. He was embarrassed about it, but Miller patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, you did good. Come here and let me watch you finish yourself off.” Snake straightened up and put one knee over Miller’s thighs to straddle him. Miller tapped his own chest and said, “Put it right here, honey, don’t get any on the sheets.” 

Miller’s unexpected term of endearment made Snake come immediately – he barely touched his cock in time to pump out his load right where Miller had instructed. Again, Miller had to pluck his discarded shirt from the floor and tidy himself up. “I have got to get better about bringing towels with us when we go to bed,” he grumbled. 

Collapsed at Miller’s side, Snake said nothing, just breathed. He was now on Miller’s right, so Miller could not put an arm around him, but Snake made up for it, draping one arm across Miller’s chest, shoving the other beneath his shoulders, and nuzzling his neck. After tossing the shirt aside, Miller covered Snake’s arm with his own and heaved a gratified sigh. “Excellent work,” he said. “You demonstrated outstanding comprehension and application of the lessons taught.” 

Snake laughed against Miller’s neck, and said, “I’m just glad you didn’t knock me out and drop me in the woods first.” 

Miller scoffed, “Are you still thinking about that whole episode?” 

Snake lifted his head to show Miller his incredulous expression. “I was sleeping on the ground and spearing fish out of a river _last week_.” 

Miller closed his eyes and smiled contentedly. “Hm, it’s not good to dwell on the past.” 

Snake sighed and rested his head on Miller’s shoulder, wishing Miller still had a right arm so that he could be lying on it and making it go numb just to spite him.


	11. Chapter 11

Miller continued to banish Snake from his apartment the morning after they’d spent the night together, but always appointed a time for him to return, or for them to do a judo session. Knowing when he would see Master Miller again helped Snake deal with his absence, but it was difficult not to count the hours. This was a feeling he’d never experienced before, even when he’d been pining for Miller all summer and fall. He had not suspected that he would only grow more desirous of intimacy once he had it. In the past, whenever he’d seen a couple being affectionate with each other, he would turn away, thinking, _Don’t worry about that, that’s not for you_. As a soldier he was sure he had trained such desires for human connection out of himself. But now he walked around feeling both empty and full, consumed by an intense longing to be close to Master Miller in any way he could. 

But he was determined not to let the feelings get the better of him, to become a sop. Whenever he could not see Miller, he busied himself at the gym, or practicing his Japanese. The few other cadets still on the base, who didn’t have anyone to visit over the holidays, had formed a close-knit group, and invited Snake to join their games of poker or pick-up basketball, but Snake politely declined; neither their company nor their activities interested him, and anyway, it would be awkward and draw attention if he were to excuse himself in the middle of a game because he suddenly had somewhere better to be. 

Every time Snake came over, Miller was cooking. Snake came to see it as a courtship ritual, despite Miller’s earlier admonishment about the nature of their relationship. Cooking was hard work, but Miller clearly enjoyed feeding Snake, so Snake chose to interpret the gesture as Miller’s way of being sweet to him in a non-sexual way. He actually envied Miller having this method of expression; he himself felt at a loss for something comparable, a way to make his affection for Miller clear that didn’t involve taking his clothes off, or making Miller roll his eyes with the corniness of a declaration of undying admiration. 

The meals, the cooking and the consumption of them, also kept Snake from feeling like their “affair” was just a sex thing. There was always so much time to talk, and they never ran out of things to talk about, despite Miller’s reticence about his own life. 

But each evening that Snake came over, after they were done eating, Master Miller always did the same thing, when there was a lull in the conversation: he would pick up the dishes, place them on the counter to be dealt with later, and then say with a contemplative hum, “About time for your lesson, hm?” 

Snake followed Miller to the bedroom, trying not to seem too eager and make a fool of himself. Miller surprised him by suddenly turning around, grasping him around the waist, and playfully tackling him onto the bed. Snake laughed, and wriggled out of Miller’s grip only so he could roll on top, proudly grinning down at the man who still threw him two times out of three in their judo sessions. Miller gritted his teeth, taking Snake’s smugness as a challenge. What they were doing lacked the elegance of judo, but it had a charm all its own, being unabashedly about being close to each other, rubbing against each other. They wrestled across the bed for several minutes, until Snake decided that the final victory would be had when he pinned Miller thoroughly enough to give him a kiss on the nose. 

“I hope you weren’t trying to use that technique in Iraq,” Miller grumbled when he had done it. 

Snake rolled off him, landing on a stack of towels that had a bottle of something clear and viscous on top. He nearly knocked the bottle off the bed, but Miller caught it, his reflexes like lightning. He set it aside while Snake tugged at the hem of Miller’s shirt, indicating that it was time to start taking clothes off and getting down to business. Miller did not resist, and for a few minutes they wrestled instead with buttons and zippers and sleeves. 

When he’d gotten all of Miller’s clothes off, Snake waited, to see if he wanted to remove his prostheses or not. When Miller’s left hand moved to his right shoulder, Snake offered to help, not so much in the removal but in setting his arm and leg aside where they would be out of the way but easy to get to later. 

“If you ever want me to leave them on,” Miller said, “just say so. It wouldn’t offend me.” 

“You should leave them on if you want to leave them on. I don’t care.” Snake forgot about sex for a minute and sat still, asking, “I mean, do you feel different when you have them on?” 

Miller was silent for a moment before he answered. “I don’t know if I feel differently about myself, but I know that people look at me differently. I used to not do the arm, I think I told you that. And I had a shitty leg and I had to use a crutch. People were still scared of me, because I was a mean bastard back then.” 

Snake rolled his eyes. “Oh, back _then_.” 

“Hush. But I knew that beneath that fear, they felt sorry for me, because I was so crippled. But I kind of wallowed in it. These days, I prefer to look whole – I know everyone knows about my arm and leg, but my prostheses are so good, if I wear gloves, I can watch people kind of forgetting that I’m a freak. I can see it in their faces, and feel the change in the way they think about me.” 

“Even me?” It made Snake sick to think that he’d been unconsciously acting repulsed by Miller’s body. 

But Miller said, “Oh, I saw you size me up on the first day, for sure. But you’re a little different. Soldiers, you know, they look at me and they either think, _That’ll be me one day, broken_, and you can feel the fear, or else they’ll think, _That’ll never happen to me, I’m too good, I’m immortal_. I have to laugh at that. But you were just observing. You weren’t feeling, you were just thinking.” 

Snake was struck by a minor panic, a hindsight sort of shame, by the first thing Miller had said. “Did you really notice me looking at you from the very first day?” 

Miller replied, “I knew who you—” but he flinched, as if realizing that he’d just let his guard down. He began again, gruffly: “You don’t get to be my age in this business without being able to assess everyone in a room instantly. I knew you were different. Don’t let it go to your head.” 

Snake was more intrigued by the implications of what Miller had said than he was by whatever Miller had _almost_ said. “So if you knew how I felt about you from day one…did you also know from the start that we would end up like this, you know, having an affair?” 

Miller seemed to find this question amusing. “If this were twenty years ago,” he said with a chuckle, “I would have been fucking you in my office after class on the first day.” 

Snake’s eyes got wide. 

“Don’t get excited.” Miller’s face got serious again. “It would have been an unbelievably bad idea. You wouldn’t have liked me back then. Things were different. As it actually _is_, I ignored your crush as long as I could. I really did like you, and wanted to get to know you as a person, not just as a soldier, and I thought I could just keep ignoring your infatuation and we could be friends. But to be honest, it’s amazing I was able to tell you ‘No’ just that one time. Turning people down isn’t my strong suit. And you were…you were kind of throwing yourself at me, and I was a little baffled. I mean, I could tell you were a lonely kid, and it’s not uncommon for someone who’s lonely to get attached to the first person who ever shows them kindness, but I didn’t even do _that_ much for you.” 

Snake opened his mouth to explain himself, but realized that trying to do so could take all night. He’d felt so many complicated things, and would have to talk them out slowly, one by one, just to understand them himself. There was no time for that, unfortunately, so he tried to sum it up in one sentence: “You were the first person who ever acted like they _understood_ me, and that’s more important than kindness, I think.” 

Miller reclined on the bed, suddenly trying to act nonchalant about the situation. “Could be,” he said with a soft grunt. 

Snake wasn’t sure if he appreciated having his feelings treated so casually by a man who clearly had his own issues. “So if you’re the expert on who gets attached too fast, what do you call what _you_ did?” 

Miller wasn’t fazed; he waved his hand philosophically and said, “I prefer to see what I’m doing as more like, callously taking advantage of an innocent and vulnerable youth.” 

Snake was indignant. “I was a Green Beret,” he reminded Miller. 

Miller rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. I’m taking advantage of an innocent and vulnerable Green Beret.” 

“You gave me a hard time about not finding someone my own age,” Snake said, crossing his arms over his chest, “but what about you? Don’t you have anyone else in your life?” 

“Can’t say I do.” Miller turned his head, looking a little pensive now, as he sometimes did. “I used to be everyone’s friend, but now…I guess I’m not as likable as I used to be.” 

Snake immediately abandoned his frustration, and uncrossed his arms so he could rest one hand on Miller’s shoulder. “I think it’s rude of people to want you to be cheerful when so much bad stuff has happened in your life.” 

Miller grasped Snake’s hand, squeezing it while he said, “That just goes to show how much you don’t know about me. I brought all my shit upon myself. And no one has to be an asshole just because bad things happened to them. I hope you know that. I’d hate to see you turn out like me.” Miller stopped gazing into the middle distance and looked at Snake. “Now, do you want to fuck, or don’t you?” 

Snake’s eyes got wide. “Is that what we’re going to do tonight? Fuck?” 

“I mean, unless you want me to break out the Barry White and unroll a bearskin rug in front of the fire so that we can make sweet, sweet love instead.” 

“Well, actually—” 

Miller put a hand up. “Don’t push your luck. Yes, we are going to fuck, that’s the answer to your question. You’re going to fuck me – eventually – but I’m going to fuck you first. _Not_ because you’re younger, or shorter, or because you were my student, but so that you can learn some common courtesies.” _Ah yes_, Snake thought, _first comes the lecture_. (He didn’t mind.) Miller continued, “You should know what it feels like to be penetrated, so you can have some sympathy for the person you’re fucking. Once you’ve done both, you’ll probably find yourself preferring one or the other.” Miller sat up and maneuvered himself against the pillows that were stacked in front of the headboard, and then tugged the towels with the bottle on top closer to himself. “Or if you’re a dirty old whore like me, you might like both.” 

Snake asked, “Does it hurt?” 

“It only hurts if you don’t do it properly. But I do it properly.” Miller patted his thigh, indicating that Snake should climb into his lap and straddle him. He held Snake’s hip to encourage him to settle there, and went on: “Good sex is all about courtesy. And lube. But mostly courtesy. The worst way to convince someone that they should enjoy something with you is to actively try to do that thing to them. Your ideal situation is to get them to _ask_ you to do it, to put the idea in their mind and then show them the right kind of attention until they’re demanding it.”

Miller may have only had one hand with which to touch Snake, but he was skillful with it, and used every other resource at his disposal as well: he slowly but rhythmically shifted his thighs, using them to caress Snake’s inner thighs, as well as his cock, balls, and ass; he made hard eye contact as he spoke, which made Snake’s stomach flip, mesmerized him; and he bestowed kisses, by turns soft and powerful, to Snake’s face, neck, shoulders, and nipples. All of this while giving Snake his usual level of instruction, which was practical but delivered in a low, alluring tone. It seemed to Snake that he was getting a live demonstration of the seduction Miller was explaining.

“It’s also important to know when it’s not a good idea to initiate something in the first place with someone you don’t know very well.”

Snake reflexively thought of this assertion in terms of military intelligence. “You mean like it might turn out to be a honeypot?”

Miller’s expression told Snake that this had in fact not been what meant, but he conceded: “There is a reason why those kind of spy missions go all the way back to the Bible. When they work, they work well. But I’m not sure they’d work on you. You seem a little, how do I say this…_picky_. But I’ve also seen that when you fall, you fall hard. Impulsive decision-making and clouded judgment can get you killed in the field – or it can get your heart broken, which will feel like death, and compromise your ability to carry out your missions.” He waved his hand, as if to get himself back on track with what he’d originally been asserting. “But there’s another reason not to be impulsive, that has less to do with being a soldier. You remember what I just said about good sex?”

“It’s about courtesy,” Snake said. “Oh, and lube.”

“Exactly. If you want to fuck a guy, but you’re in a situation where there’s no lube or condoms handy, it’s probably a bad idea. If you’re in the goddamn jungle or something, stick to hand jobs or blow jobs. Spit is not lube. And don’t let him try to take advantage of your wanting to feel that close to him when things get hot and heavy. It might feel corny giving a guy a handjob, but if you let him put it in you with no preparation you’ll regret it later when you’re bent over a table in the medical tent and the doctor knows exactly why you’ve had to come and see him.”

Snake flinched, and forgot how nice he was feeling for a moment. Miller saw the discomfort in his face, and said, “But, that’s not going to happen here tonight. Why?”

“...Because we have lube?”

“Yes.” Miller’s hand cupped Snake’s ass, soothing him back into receptiveness. “I promise you I’m going to set a gold standard for you for this, and hopefully you’ll think twice before settling for anything less.”

That was actually something that Snake had been anxious about lately: that Miller was being so good to him, it was only making his infatuation worse, ruining him for any future partners. But perhaps that was the idea: take a kid who was already a celibate loner and make sure he never snapped out of it again, to make him a better field agent. Even that thought, however, could not convince Snake to put a stop to anything that was happening.

Miller’s hand, which up to now had been smoothly, aimlessly caressing him all over, began to focus more intently on the space between his thighs. Teasing Snake’s cock only lightly, he soon moved down to his balls, which were drawn up tight against his body. After cupping them, hefting them a little, Miller’s fingers, one by one, dipped further back, exploring the warm, secret place behind them. Snake made a soft little noise, got embarrassed about it, and tried to just breathe or grunt instead.

“All my attention is on you, isn’t it?” Miller said, as his fingertips circled the entrance to Snake’s body.

“Uh huh.”

“How does it feel?”

“Really nice.”

“Remember that. Always give the other person your full attention.” He made a little gesture with his chin, which Snake understood by now: he was indicating without using his hand that he wanted Snake to lean forward and get a kiss. Snake happily complied. He liked kissing, especially with tongues; it felt more wonderfully filthy than even a blowjob. But as Miller’s tongue delved inside Snake’s mouth, his fingers traveled away from their target, returning to stroke the insides of Snake’s thighs. Snake made a little bereft noise, and again tried to suppress it. He had felt some very intense things in this room, but he had never felt so profundly vulnerable and needy as he did now.

Snake started to lose focus on the kiss, giving his full concentration to where Miller’s hand was going, trying to predict where it might go next, hoping it would return to where it had been. Miller squeezed his hip and thigh, sliding all the way down to his knee, then back up, around the curve of his ass, and then his fingers were approaching his most intimate place again, from the other direction this time. Snake tilted his hips, trying to get Miller’s hand where he wanted it, but Miller would not be pushed around; he admonished Snake by retreating, and it felt like the whole process was starting all over again. Slowly, Miller’s fingers crept back into the cleft of Snake’s ass, and finally he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Can you put your fingers inside me?” Snake said, panting against Miller’s open mouth.

“Do you want that?”

Snake whimpered, “Yes, _please_.”

Miller broke the kiss properly, looked Snake in the eye, and Snake immediately understood that he’d just proven that Miller’s earlier lesson was well-founded.

“Hold still,” Miller said, and picked up the bottle of lube. It was a pump bottle, so he could dispense it one-handed, and when he had plenty on his fingers, he set it aside – not too far away – and rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “Warm it up first, if it’s cold,” he said.

Then, finally, he touched one slick finger directly to Snake’s hole, and pressed inwards, only briefly, only enough to get the very tip inside. Snake groaned with a mixture of shock at being intruded upon and frustration at being intruded upon so _slightly_. He knew better than to make a demand, but he was _aching_.

When Miller kissed Snake again, he slid his tongue into Snake’s mouth just as he pressed his finger all the way inside, and Snake thought he would die. He clenched around the finger, his body unsure how to deal with it, but in his mind, in his heart, he was ecstatic. “I can take more,” he blurted, but Miller must have thought differently, based on what he was feeling Snake’s body actually do, because he made only tiny, incremental movements, getting Snake’s hole used to the idea of him being there. Only when Snake had calmed down, inside and out, did he introduce a second finger. 

After that, he moved a little more insistently, pressing those fingers against Snake’s inner walls, massaging the muscle there, working all around. He said absolutely nothing, did not warn Snake or tease him with the knowledge of what he was about to do, he just expertly pressed the pads of both fingers against Snake’s prostate, and rubbed it. 

Snake’s whole body jerked with a sudden deep pulse of pleasure. It was like nothing he’d experienced before, better than a tongue in the slit of his cock, better than having his nipples sucked. He struggled not to make embarrassing noises, suppressing his keening into grunts, until Miller admonished him: “Are you trying to be quiet?” 

Snake flinched. “Maybe.” 

Miller sighed, and said, “What if I told you that stealth is optional in this mission? Loosen up and let me hear you.” He continued pressing, massaging Snake inside. “Come on now, make your master feel like a good lover.” 

“Okay. _Ohhh_ okay, uh, _hah—_” Snake’s hips began to move of their own accord in response to the novel and incomprehensible way Miller was touching him, and he ejaculated abruptly. 

Snake watched Miller as Miller watched each volley of come landing on his chest and dribbling down to his belly. “Sorry,” Snake said, covering his face with his hands. “I guess I shouldn’t have loosened up quite so much.” 

“It’s fine. That’s what we have these for.” Miller nodded towards the towels, and Snake took one off the stack and cleaned Miller up, so he wouldn’t have to take his fingers out. Miller said, “Having a good time, then?” 

Snake nodded reflexively, then insisted, “But I’m not done! I want more, I promise.” 

“Oh don’t worry, I’m not done either. Now you’re nice and relaxed, I think it’s time.” Miller gently removed his fingers and went for the lube bottle again. He squeezed three fresh pumps into his hand, then Snake watched while he spread it on his cock. “I’m gonna let you do it yourself, alright? I’m just gonna hold it, and you can take it at your own pace.” 

Miller grasped his cock just behind the head, and Snake scooted himself up to get it between his legs. He had thought that the first time they did this, Miller would be in control of everything; the idea of having to put it in himself was strangely daunting. But he couldn’t disappoint Master Miller. He reached down, taking hold of Miller’s cock as well to help aim it, and manipulated it blindly. He gasped when the very tip of it slid down the cleft of his ass and caught on his hole. Biting his lip, he spread his thighs and lowered himself, bearing down so it would go in. 

The head popping in past his initial resistance was shocking, despite the fact that he’d caused it to happen himself and the lubrication made everything smooth and slick. Miller murmured sweet encouragements as Snake sank down, taking the whole thing inside himself, feeling Miller’s fingers and his own bumping against his hole as he inched down the shaft, until at last they could take their hands away entirely, and Miller could place his on Snake’s hip to steady him. 

This was it. This was his virginity, gone. Snake had wondered the past few days if the other things he and Master Miller had done together counted as his First Time, but there was no doubt about it now. He shook with the feeling of fullness, twitching at all the sensations inside him that he could not predict or control. Miller asked. “You okay? It doesn’t hurt, does it?” 

“I don’t think so, but…Can I just have a minute?” 

“Of course. Take all the time you need. Kind of a big deal, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” Snake squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away. 

Miller was not having that. “Listen to me. _Hey_, look at me. You don’t have to be shy around me, now.” 

Snake turned back and opened his eyes, but averted them when looking at Miller’s face got too intense. 

“Never forget that your body is a gift,” Miller told him. "You are giving it to me now, but you can withhold it when you need to.” Snake couldn’t imagine ever wanting to deny Master Miller, but he nodded anyway. Miller went on, “There are men who think they’re real men, because they want to burn down villages, tear the throats out of their enemies with their teeth, whatever bullshit they can think of, but they would never, ever have the guts to make themselves vulnerable like this. They would never let themselves feel the things that you let yourself feel. They’re just machines, hollow men who are afraid to be human. But not you.” 

Snake shook his head. “Nuh-uh.” Despite the fact that he was right in the middle of the most raw, visceral, and bizarre thing he’d ever felt, physically and emotionally, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to cry, but he felt like he _wanted_ to cry. But he was okay with the feeling, okay if he did cry, because he felt safe with Master Miller. His thighs flexed as he gradually became accustomed to the feeling of Miller’s cock inside him. He braced himself on Miller’s shoulder with one hand, and began to squeeze and stroke himself with the other. He didn’t have an erection again yet, but he wanted to be hard very badly. His fidgeting to get comfortable turned into a rhythmic pumping of his hips to match his hand on his cock, making it feel better and better. 

Snake panted, “How do I make it…touch that place inside…” 

“That can be kind of tricky, but you’ll figure it out.” Miller directed Snake with his hand. “Just try moving your hips…like that. Back and forth, up and down.” 

“Oh!” Snake’s whole body seized as a new shock of pleasure shot through him. 

“_There_ you go.” 

Snake wriggled around, trying until he hit the right spot a second time. That gave him a better idea of how he’d done it: A short stroke, up and down, and he could keep Miller’s cock close enough to the right place to keep bumping up against it. 

“Good,” Miller said when it became clear by the noises he was making that Snake had figured it out. “_Good_.” Soon, Snake was pleasuring himself and riding Miller’s cock without inhibition, moaning about how good it felt, reveling in Miller’s voice as he urged Snake on with words and with the grip of his hand on Snake’s hip. 

When Snake felt the inevitability of his orgasm, starting in the soles of his feet and shooting up his calves and thighs and tightening his balls, he shouted it, announced it, and Miller growled, “Do it, show me.” Snake kept his eyes open, as if he wouldn’t believe it if he didn’t see it himself, when the ultimate mind-blanking pleasure overcame him and an arc of semen shot out of his cock and landed on Miller’s chest. “Beautiful,” Miller said, leaning forward and gripping Snake around the waist in a way that encouraged him to keep moving, even after he was finished coming and began to feel overstimulated. “Bounce on it just a little more, sweetheart, and make me come too.” 

Snake’s thighs were protesting, but he kept working to please Miller, who soon gave a tremendous grunt, then grabbed Snake harder and held him still, so still that he could feel Miller’s cock pulsing inside him. 

Afterward, as the fog of lust dissipated, they looked at each other, and Snake broke into a grin, and Miller smiled back at him – not a mere twitch or a subtle curl of the lip, but a real smile, wide and brilliant and joyful. Snake was sure this was the first genuine, beaming smile he’d ever seen on Miller’s face. It was so thrilling to witness, he threw his arms around Miller’s neck, then pulled back to see more of it. He was filled with a strange giddiness, like they had accomplished something together, even if all that accomplishment really amounted to was making a big mess between them. 

Miller picked up one of the towels and looped it around and under Snake, tucking it close where their bodies met. He explained to Snake that as his cock softened and Snake’s body pushed it out, the towel should catch most of the mess, but that he’d probably want to go and clean up pretty soon. Snake nodded, still smiling dreamily. 

“You had a nice experience, then?” Miller said, knowing the answer perfectly well. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry that I always come so fast. I don’t mean to, but things just get so intense.” 

“I choose to take it as a compliment.” Snake kept grinning, until Miller said matter-of-factly, “but just so you know, not everyone will appreciate it.” 

Snake’s face fell. “How can I fix it?” 

Miller settled back into lecture mode and explained a few techniques that one might employ to delay orgasm, starting with simply distracting oneself. “I’ve heard a popular one is mentally reciting baseball statistics. I myself do not know a goddamn thing about baseball; I was a civilian in the US for about twenty minutes in the sixties, and I never bothered to talk to guys about how baseball worked, I was too busy talking to girls about music so that I could get laid. And anyway, why would you put all the work in to have sex and then not be thinking about how good the sex is that you’re having? But I guess some guys swear by it.”

Miller then gave a practical demonstration of another technique, showing Snake exactly where he could pinch his cock behind the head to make the feeling of impending orgasm dissipate. “You can’t do that one forever, though, because eventually you get used to it and your dick ignores it. But it can come in handy in an emergency. But honestly, the best thing you can do is just make sure your partner is really close by the time you’re close. Foreplay is your friend. Get a girl so hot she can’t stand not to have your cock in her, and by the time you get it in, she’ll already be coming. Then you’re good to go. Unless she wants more than one. Sometimes they want three or four.” 

Snake always felt a little mystified whenever Miller started giving advice about how to have sex with people who were not Miller. He could not imagine wanting to have sex with anyone else, ever, and so considered this information a waste of breath. However, Miller seemed to like teaching him, and he liked hearing Miller’s voice, so he asked Miller to elaborate: “How do you know when a girl has had enough of them and it’s okay to finish?” 

“That can be tricky, but basically my rule of thumb is, the ideal time to come is when your partner is begging you to do it. In a good way, I mean. But you know, not everyone can swing that. Good thing for you, when you’re twenty, coming once does not have to mean ‘finished.’ So long as you can go again in thirty seconds, it’s not the end of the world. If you’re worried about it happening, just jerk off in the shower beforehand, and that should help. Most likely if you’re with a guy, you’ll be fine if you can go again real soon, which you clearly can. But women are different. A woman can go from sixty to zero in bed if one thing goes wrong, so if you’re fucking a girl and you come too soon, you need to be prepared to immediately get down there and eat her out and get three fingers in her. Make her come before she realizes what’s happened. She needs to leave your presence thinking you’re the king, because if she doesn’t, not only will she not be back, she will tell _everyone_.” 

“Really?” Snake was genuinely intrigued now. 

“Women aren’t like men. Men are just like, ‘I got laid!’ and all the other guys in the locker room cheer and that’s the end of it. A woman will tell her twelve closest friends what your dick looks like and what you did with it. The only exception is if your dick was so good it sent her spiraling into an existential crisis. Then she won’t tell anyone, for fear that her friends will want a piece of the action and try to fuck you behind her back. So if you don’t want all her friends to know your business, you gotta do whatever she likes, and do it like your life depends on it.” 

“It sounds like women are a lot more effort to be with.” 

Miller waved his hand vaguely. “Honestly, yeah, but they’re worth it. Anyway, aside from being young, you’ve also got another strike against you, always living in barracks. There’s no privacy, not even in your bed, not even in the showers, so you’ve gotta crank one out as quickly as possible whenever you have a moment of solitude. Am I right?” 

Snake’s face heated up. Miller had nailed it. 

“Yeah, so you train yourself to get off quick, in nasty places like toilet stalls. It’s no good for learning to enjoy yourself and be a good lover. Things might change when you get out of here, but it’d be a good idea to be more conscientious of that. Work hard to secure privacy for yourself, and re-learn how to enjoy it and not hurry.” 

That sounded like useful advice, more useful than some of the other stuff he’d been talking about. How Snake would pull it off, he did not know, but he took it to heart nonetheless. 

Finding that his legs were going numb from the way he was sitting, Snake shifted, and it suddenly occurred to him that Miller had been right earlier: he did indeed want to shower very badly. He held the towel carefully as he got up off Miller and excused himself. “Don’t be long,” Miller said, “I like having you around. And bring me a washcloth when you come back, will you? I don’t want to get up.” 

Snake showered in three minutes and brought Miller back a damp washcloth; he ran it over his dick and under his armpits before tossing it into the laundry hamper by the door. Snake crawled back into bed and snuggled up beside Miller. They agreed that, though tired and sated, they were not sleepy yet, and so even after Miller flicked the light off, they took turns lounging against one another, lolling about, limbs occasionally entwined, and just talked. 

Snake asked, “You said you were a civilian?” 

“When I was in college, yeah.” 

“Is college really like it is in the movies?” 

Miller chuckled, “It could get pretty wild, yeah.” 

Snake quickly regretted asking the question. Though he was definitely curious about what it was like to be a normal person, going to a normal college, he did not want to hear about Miller’s past sexual escapades, so he asked something else: “Did you ever have a regular job?” 

“Oh, I had a couple. I helped my mom run her store when I was a kid.” He paused, and Snake heard him swallow hard. Then he went on: “But I’ll tell you what, the best job I ever had was running an ice cream truck. It was when I was in college, during the summer, to earn a little extra cash. See, every time I handed someone an ice cream cone, they would immediately lick the first bit that they saw dripping. I started purposely overloading the cones so they absolutely had to do it right away.” Miller sighed. “God, I just watched attractive people in skimpy outfits lick ice cream cones all day long, that whole summer. It was glorious. At first it was just the girls, but then I noticed that I liked watching the guys do it too. That’s how I realized I was bisexual.” 

Snake laughed. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Miller shifted, and idly stroked Snake’s arm and chest. “What about you? How did you figure it out?” 

“Bono,” Snake said. 

“What?” 

“Bono. I saw him in a music video.” 

“Never heard of him.” 

Snake shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Now that they knew each other better, and now that he had calmed down a little about simply being able to talk to Master Miller and be around him, Snake had begin to notice that whenever the conversation turned casual, Miller seemed like he wanted Snake to talk with him just to distract him, like he needed help taking his mind off something bad that had happened. Snake never minded. This continued talking, stretching out the conversation by going into excruciating detail about the few funny, idyllic memories they had between them, until they were mumbling half-asleep, and then finally went quiet.


	12. Chapter 12

To Snake’s surprise, when Miller opened the door for him that night, the kitchen was silent and cold; the oven wasn’t on, there was no meat sizzling on the stovetop. For a moment, Snake got excited – maybe this meant they were going to go out. Before he could ask, though, Miller was already picking up an incongruous bundle on the counter, and asking, “Hope you don’t mind, I planned something special tonight.” 

Snake examined the items Miller had picked up: a backpack, which looked to be half-full, and clinked inside; two big towels, neatly folded; and a silver platter with a domed cover, which to Snake looked like something a rich person in a Looney Tune would be served with at a restaurant. Miller picked up his cane in his other hand, and said, “Grab my keys and lock the door behind us, would you.” He waited, eyebrow raised, for Snake to do as he was told. 

“Where are we going?” Snake asked, holding the door open for Miller. 

“You’ll see. It’s a secret. And when I say secret, I mean it’s a secret kept from you until tonight, and after tonight it’s a secret you keep to yourself.” 

“Of course. I haven’t told anyone anything.” 

“Good. See that that continues.” 

Snake was about to say something else as they made their way from the apartment building out onto the road, but Miller shushed him. They walked in silence, with Miller leading him from shadow to shadow, avoiding the pools of lamplight along the way. Eventually it became clear that Miller was taking him to the gym, which just made the situation even more confusing. 

The sign on the only entrance to the gym said **CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE**. Miller showed Snake which key on his keyring opened the door. The gym was dark inside, prompting Miller to mutter, “Good, no idiots out tonight who thought the sign didn’t apply to them.” They walked all the way across the gym, to a door with a deadbolt that normally had no sign on it. Tonight, there was a handwritten piece of paper taped to it that said **OUT OF ORDER**, and below that, **EXPOSED WIRES**. 

This time, as Snake was opening the door under Miller’s instruction, he remarked, “It looks like it might not be a good idea to go in here?” 

“Who do you think put that sign on the door?” Miller scoffed. “Never trust a sign. Jesus, I thought you were smart.” 

Snake swung the door open and let Miller enter first. When he followed, he found an anteroom with two glass doors, one leading to a sauna, the other to a Jacuzzi. 

“This is strictly for officers and staff only, no cadets, so you were never here,” Miller said. “I know you wanted to go on a date, and I wanted to get you something nice for Christmas, so this is what I could swing.” 

The glass doors had no locks; Snake pressed his face to the door leading to the hot tub, and accidentally pushed it open and nearly fell on his face. Miller laughed, but Snake didn’t care. Months in a sub-arctic climate had made him long for excessive, sultry heat, and having only been in a hot tub once, at a classmate’s house in high school, Snake found the very idea of them thrilling and exotic. 

Miller set down all the things he was carrying, then sat himself down at the edge of the sunken tub, which was already warmed up and bubbling, and began to remove his shoes. Snake just stood there, until Miller said, “You waiting for an order, cadet? Get your clothes off!” Snake immediately went for his belt, shoving his jeans down before realizing that he probably ought to take his boots off first. 

After undressing, Miller took a plastic bag from the backpack, scooted to the very edge of the tub, removed his prostheses, and put them in the bag, to protect them from the humidity. He pulled the silver tray and the backpack over to the edge of the tub, where he could reach them once he got in. Then he pivoted, put his right foot into the water, ignored the hand Snake put out to offer assistance, levered himself forward with his left hand, and dropped into the tub with a splash. Snake followed, but using the steps and rail. It felt very naughty to be completely naked in the hot tub, even though they were the only ones around, and they had been naked together before. 

But before any naked shenanigans could happen, there was dinner to attend to. “You ready to eat?” Miller said as Snake settled in beside him. He lifted the lid on the tray, to reveal a colorful assortment of _nigiri_ and _maki_. 

“Oh, I’ve never had sushi before,” Snake said. “Is it all raw?” 

“Some of it is, and some of it is cooked.” Miller uncovered two tiny Tupperware containers in the middle of the assortment, and arranged them: soy sauce and ginger. He then pointed out each type of fish – some rolled up into _maki_, some laid elegantly across rice – describing their tastes and textures: the rich, fatty _toro_ cuts; the lean, meaty _akami_; the tender _ebi_; the mild, creamy salmon; the sweet, pink _aji_. 

It all looked delicious to Snake, who had grown up eating the most unimaginative, unremarkable food even as a civilian, and then had been faced with even worse in mess halls and MRE packs. “Are there chopsticks?” he asked. 

“Sashimi you eat with chopsticks, but you eat these kind with your hands.” To demonstrate, Miller picked up a piece of _nigiri_ between his thumb and middle finger. “You hold it like this, then turn your hand inward, and dip the fish in the _shoyu_.” He pointed at the soy sauce. “Don’t dip the rice, because it soaks up the _shoyu_ like a sponge, and it overwhelms the taste of the fish. Then, you turn the piece so that when you put it in your mouth, the fish is against your tongue. Don’t rush to chew and swallow. Give it time, and taste all the flavors.” Miller popped the piece in his mouth, and closed his eyes to savor it. 

Snake waited until Miller had finished the piece and gestured to Snake to try one himself, then asked, “You put the whole thing in your mouth at once?” 

Miller nodded. 

Snake imitated Miller’s actions, watching his face for approval. It was amazingly flavorful, even the rice, which Snake had never thought of as being a flavorful food. He slowly worked the piece around on his tongue. 

Meanwhile, Miller pulled from the backpack a bottle of _sake_ and two cups. “Technically you’re not supposed to drink _sake_ with _nigiri_ or _maki_,” he said as he poured it, “only with _sashimi_. It’s because _sake_ is rice-based, and so its taste doesn’t complement the rice you’re eating. But I don’t really give a shit, to be honest.” 

Snake took the cup that Miller handed him. “I would think, being a person who was raised in Japan, you would be more protective of Japanese customs.” Snake looked around at where they were currently sitting. “Like not eating and drinking in an _onsen_?” 

“In Japan I wasn’t considered a person,” Miller said flatly. “I’ll have respect for whatever I want to have respect for.” He raised his cup, and waited for Snake to follow suit. “_Kanpai!_” he said, and they drank. 

Before taking another piece, Snake pointed at the little dish of ginger. “What’s this?” 

“That’s _gari_. It’s meant as a palate cleanser between different kinds of sushi. You don’t eat it with the sushi itself.” 

“Got it.” 

When Snake had run out of questions, they fell into silence, eating the sushi and drinking the _sake_. Snake noticed that Miller seemed to be doing more of the latter than the former, but said nothing about it; it meant more sushi for him. He was elated about everything that was happening, and Miller seemed to be enjoying himself immensely as well. And who could blame them? They were relaxing together in a hot place on a cold night with a little booze and some delicious food. 

“I should put fake signs on the door more often,” Miller said with a gratified groan. “This feels great. I don’t usually come here, but it really helps with the pain.” 

Snake paused with a piece of sushi in his hand. “Are you in pain all the time?” 

“Just about. I usually have about twenty good minutes after we have sex, though.” 

“Really?” 

“I guess it’s the adrenaline. And I’ve generally been in a better mood lately, I think. I’m sure you can tell how cheerful and care-free I’ve become.” 

Snake smiled. “Uh-huh.” But then he felt a little sad about Master Miller. It was hard enough just to have to deal with missing limbs, and Snake knew about the phantom limb pain, but he’d had no idea that Miller was _constantly_ in physical distress. That made him feel bad about how much he himself had just thoughtlessly enjoyed the things they’d done together, without consideration for Miller. After a moment, he asked, “I’m sorry that…that it’s still so bad, after all these years.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve gotten used to it, and can deal with it pretty well.” 

“I just wish I had known. I mean, I wish that we’d started doing this earlier.” Snake grinned. “I could have come over and given you twenty pain-free minutes every night.” 

Miller laughed. “Nah. I told you, that would be a terrible idea. I would have felt like even more of a shitheel if we’d started fucking while I was still your instructor. And where would you have found the time, anyway? Plus you had a curfew when training was happening, right?” 

“Yeah, ten.” 

“You’d have had to sneak back to the barracks every night.” 

“I’m good at sneaking,” Snake said as he finally popped his piece of sushi in his mouth. 

“You’re not that good, Mister Gym-At-Two-In-The-Morning.” 

Snake paused, and made a mental note of that before he resumed chewing. Being tempted to start breaking curfew after the new year was right out, it sounded like. He backtracked to something Miller had said a minute before – how he would have felt like “more” of a shitheel if their affair had begun earlier. Did that mean he felt like _somewhat_ of a shitheel now? Snake supposed that would only be natural – what they were doing was still pretty dodgy. 

He was about to ask, but then Miller had a question for him instead: “Speaking of discomfort, how’s your ass feel?” 

Snake nearly dropped his cup of _sake_ into the water. “Fine,” he replied. “I mean, it’s kinda sore, but in a good way…? Like your muscles after a workout.” 

Miller nodded. “Good, that sounds about right. You shouldn’t be in too much pain afterwards; if you ever are, you fucked up somehow. Either the wrong circumstances, or the wrong person. And that’s more likely when you’re a soldier, by the way.” 

Ah, it was time for a lecture. That was fine, Miller always had interesting things to say, and he could sometimes be delightfully blunt in his opinions. Maybe later they could make out, but for now, Snake asked dutifully, “Why’s that?” 

“You remember how we were talking about how in the military, everyone’s trained themselves to come in two minutes in a fucking toilet stall? It doesn’t get any better when you find someone else to have sex with. When the military is your whole life, you can get used to furtive, brutal fucking if you do it too much. You start thinking that it’s normal. You’ll end up having to re-train yourself to enjoy intimacy, to know how good it can feel to take your time and be good to each other. Personally, I think you did yourself a favor by waiting until now. For plenty of soldiers your age, it’s already too late.” 

Snake ventured, “It sounds like you maybe were one of the ones who had to re-learn...?” 

Miller took another gulp of _sake_ before setting the cup down with a firm _clack_ against the tiles. “The thing is, you might meet someone and fall for them, and they might have unusual tastes, and everything I’ve taught you might end up meaning nothing to you. People think they have limitations, but when you fall in love, you’re willing to do things you were unwilling to do before, just to be with them.” 

Miller seemed close to revealing something very heavy. Snake nudged his cup aside, determined to remain sober so he could absorb every word, but he hoped Miller would stay just tipsy enough to continue being candid. 

“Has that happened to you?” he got up the guts to ask. Miller’s long pause made him fearful that he had already pushed too hard. It was clearly a tough one for Miller to answer for some reason. Snake started to insist that he did not need to talk about it, but Miller shushed him. Then he answered, slowly at first but with increasing ire and remorse: 

“I was in love with a man once who...honestly, I think he had some wires crossed in his brain. In the beginning, he seemed to barely know or care what sex was at all. All he knew was war, and he gloried in everything to do with fighting. Eventually I could get him interested in sex, but only if we had a physical fight. I think something about the chemical rush of fighting made him sexually receptive. For a while after I figured it out, I wasn’t crazy about what I had to do to get him to want to fuck, so I still got my kicks with every other willing person I could find, and accepted that ours would be a more spiritual union. We were devoted to each other, although I know now that I was the more devoted, the one more in love. But over time, he got fed up with my wild oat-sowing, and so to keep him happy, I slowed down on the stuff with other people, and got used to what I had to do to get him to want to have sex with me.” 

It was difficult for Snake to listen to Miller talk about his past experiences with just one special person, let alone the mentions of many others whom he considered trifles; the envy struck him right in the heart. But he wouldn’t have shut Miller up for the world. For better or worse, this candor was what he’d been dreaming of for months. It certainly explained a lot of the things Miller had taught him, about courtesy, about caution. 

“Over time I thought I was learning to like it,” Miller went on, “because I was so betsotted with him. But later, you know, you look back and think, _I was an idiot_. There were just so many brawls, so many fist-fights. I mean, don’t get me wrong, my bloodlust is as insatiable as the next man’s. But unlike him, I could get an erection even if I _didn’t_ have blood dripping down my face. When you and I were wrestling, that was fun, it got my blood pumping, got my dick hard, but with him, it wasn’t fun. It was more like…” Miller sighed. “It was a lot of work for me, but I endured it for him.” 

Miller was silent for so long that Snake assumed he was obligated to say something now. “More interested in fighting than sex,” he observed. “Sounds like me, I guess.” 

Miller flashed him a look so ferocious, Snake was startled, but then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and admitted, “He was a little like you, I suppose.” 

“Whatever happened to him?” 

Miller was quiet again for a long while, his only movements a couple of hard swallows. Snake’s heart began to pound; he was sure that he was going to get a huge story, an epic tale that would reveal all. 

But then Miller just took another swig of _sake_ and said, and not entirely convincingly, “...He died.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Snake narrowed his eyes, but did not question Miller about it. 

“Anyway, _I’m_ sorry for bringing up an old flame, but lately I’ve been thinking about him more, for some reason. The point is…what was my point? Right, the _point_ is, if you meet someone who tells you he needs something you really don’t care for, that he can’t get off without it…” Snake assumed he was about to say something like, _Get the fuck away from him and don’t look back_, but instead he conceded, “…you might choose to deal with that so you can keep him to yourself. And that will be your choice. It will certainly give you wisdom that I can’t give you, or don’t want to.” 

It was more apparent now that Miller might have had just a little too much to drink. It was not so surprising that it had happened here; a hot tub did feel to Snake like a liminal space, where reality didn’t matter much and restraint was less appealing. Then again, Miller might just have the tendency to cut loose once in a while. Snake tried to glean this information by asking, “Master Miller, by any chance did you ever get in the habit of reducing your alcohol intake after you lost your arm and leg?” 

“Ha,” Miller barked, as he set his empty cup down. He tried to pour himself another, only to find the bottle empty as well. “The joke’s on you,” he said ruefully, “I was a lightweight _before _Afghanistan.” 

Snake’s breath caught at this revelation. “I…I think it’s time to go,” he said. 

Miller sighed, “You’re probably right. I gotta piss anyway.” 

It was a misery to have to put clothes back on and go back out into the winter cold, but refusing to do so would mean not having had such a good time in the first place, so Snake endured it without complaint. He carried the backpack, towels, and tray for Master Miller, who was a little unsteady on his feet. Halfway back to the apartment block, Miller demanded they stop. Snake looked him up and down, trying to assess in a split second what the problem was, but then Miller just turned to face the nearest building, unzipped his trousers, and took out his dick. 

If it were anyone else, Snake would have turned away politely, but Miller was so shameless about it, Snake forgot his manners and watched as Miller started to piss, directing a powerful stream against the side of the building. As he emptied his bladder, he tilted forward and leaned against the wall with his free hand, groaning with relief. Snake gawked at his gratified expression and at his dick in his hand, and was excited by his shameless noises. Seeing Miller do this seemed as intimate to Snake as anything they’d done in the past week, and butterflies erupted in his stomach to think of it as being comparably erotic. 

When Miller’s stream finally tapered off, he spent more time than was probably necessary waggling his dick to free the last few drops. 

“If you shake it more than three times, you’re playing with it,” Snake recited the conventional wisdom. 

Miller growled, “I’ll play with it if I want to, it’s my dick.” He zipped up and they continued on their way. 

Miller was more amenable to Snake helping him out of his clothes and his prostheses than he had been about getting them on at the hot tub. Afterwards, he flopped down on the bed, and Snake had to yank the covers from under him to drape them over him properly; he probably did not even realize how cold it was in the room. Snake went into the bathroom, found some ibuprofen, filled a glass of water from the tap, and brought it to him. Miller grumbled about being fussed over but gulped the water down before collapsing back onto the mattress. 

Snake undressed and crawled in alongside Miller, who was softly humming with each exhalation. Snake stroked his chest, and when things were settled in and quiet, he asked, “Was it the Mujahedeen who took your arm and leg?” Perhaps it was wrong to try to get more information out of Miller when he was in a compromised state, but he could not resist. 

Miller grunted, as if Snake had just awoken him from a long sleep. “No…” he slurred. “…I was training them.” 

“Then who was it?” 

Snake waited for an answer, but soon heard Miller begin to snore.


	13. Chapter 13

It didn’t feel right to do this now, in Master Miller’s shower, while Miller was waiting for him in the other room. Snake wanted to save up all his physical pleasure, to enjoy himself only in Miller’s presence. But he had to be practical: he could not come in two seconds tonight like he had been doing. He had to jerk one out now, to calm himself down, so that he could take his time when it really counted. 

Snake ejaculated against the tiled wall of the shower, then grabbed the showerhead from off its mount and used it to spray the mess away. He got out of the shower, dried off, put the shower chair back in the tub, and then went out, naked and still damp, into the bedroom. 

Miller was lounging on the bed, reading a paperback, which he tossed aside as Snake climbed into bed. He leaned forward to reach out for Snake’s clean, soft skin, feeling him all over just to entertain himself. Snake could hear the pleased sounds he made in the back of his throat, and held still so Miller could look and grope his fill. He could feel his pulse thumping all over his body in anticipation. 

“Now let me see your nails,” Miller said. 

Snake held out his hands, palms-down and fingers spread. “I trimmed them just like you told me to,” he said, as Miller inspected his fingernails, “and cut the hangnails, too.” 

“Good. Very important, when fingers are going into delicate places. Never forget that.” 

“I won’t.” 

Miller continued to hold Snake’s hands, noticing how they shook. “You nervous?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah, you seem nervous. What’s wrong, you’re more scared now than when you were the one getting fucked.” 

“That was different. I just want to do a good job, I guess. I want to do it right for you.” 

“Aren’t you the sweetest thing.” Miller brushed a few strands of hair behind Snake’s ear. “You’ll do fine. You’ve been learning from the best, after all.” 

Miller took one of the pillows that was leaning against the headboard, placed it squarely in the middle of the bed, then doubled up a towel to lay on top of it. He laid himself down on his belly so that the pillow propped his hips up. “You’ve been told everything you need to know. Now show me what an attentive student you are.” 

First, Snake had to get over the delectable sight of Miller presenting himself in such a wanton manner. Only then could he begin to decide how to move himself, limb by limb, so that he might mount his master in a way that was…respectful? That honored who was still clearly in charge? Something like that. Snake swung one leg over both of Miller’s, straddling him. Then he thought better of it, and shifted so that his knees could instead press between Miller’s thighs and spread them open wider. Miller happily accommodated him. 

Snake picked up the bottle of lube, then realized he was acting in a hurry for no reason. He wanted to do something first that didn’t require the stuff. He dropped the bottle, placed both hands on Miller’s shoulders, pressed him down, and began to massage him. 

Miller’s groans were immediate and shameless as he submitted to Snake’s rough but skillful massage. Snake explored Miller’s broad back thoroughly, digging his fingers into all the most tensely knotted-up muscles he could find, working them loose. “Where did you learn this?” Miller huffed. “I didn’t teach you this.” 

“Sports Medicine in high school,” Snake said. 

“Huh, things really _are_ changing for the youth of today.” Miller paused to grunt and moan at what Snake was doing. “I learned everything I know about this from a Thai prostitute.” 

Always with his promiscuous past. “She teach you anything else?” Snake said with a sneer. 

“There was no—_ah_—no time, I’m afraid. _Ngh_, the place got strafed unexpectedly. Well, I guess to be honest it would not be totally unexpected for any place I happened to be in 1973 to get suddenly strafed.” 

Snake wasn’t sure what to say to this. “Sorry you didn’t get your money’s worth?” he ventured. 

“Who says I paid? Those girls spend their free time how they like.” 

After finishing with Miller’s shoulders and back, Snake wanted to think that he could apply the same clinical skill to his gluteal muscles, but he ended up getting distracted. Miller’s rump was lean, but it had the slightest soft curve that felt good to hold. While enjoying these two handfuls, Snake was unable to resist spreading Miller open to get a peek at his most private place. Not that he had a reason to feel guilty about it, as presumably Miller welcomed it, but he did feel _naughty_, and that was delightful. He held Miller open, and touched his hole with the pads of both thumbs. There was just the slightest dusting of hair there, all the way to his balls, and Snake brushed over it with his fingertips. The space was soft and humid and secret, and it was exhilarating to be able to touch it however he liked. If he were to travel back in time six months and tell his past self what he would be doing with Miller in December, he would earn the most extreme incredulity. 

Snake’s curiosity about what Miller felt like inside, about whether he could provoke the same intense feelings in Miller that he himself had experienced, became overwhelming. He picked up the lube and pumped some onto his fingers – almost missing, as he was unwilling to take his eyes from Miller beneath him. The lube felt cool on his skin, which reminded him that he was supposed to let it warm up first. He used his other hand to continue exploring Master Miller’s body – he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to do this, just touch him all over. It was like a dream – except it would have been right around now, when things were about to get really good, that an alarm would have woken him up. 

He pressed his slippery fingers to Miller’s hole, circling but not yet bold enough to push inside. Miller made a few anticipatory noises, but let Snake go at his own pace. When at last he couldn’t stand his own fearful hesitation anymore, Snake slipped his first finger inside – and gasped harder than Miller did. Miller was _hot_ inside, and he gripped Snake’s finger hard – but only, Snake realized after the initial shock, at the last knuckle. Past the initial squeeze of tight muscle, it actually felt roomy inside, and Snake felt around to familiarize himself. Miller’s inner walls felt so smooth and delicate, which only made Snake feel more reverent about being allowed in. 

He withdrew his finger slowly, savoring the squeeze on the way out, then returned with two. With his longer middle finger, he could better locate Miller’s prostate – he remembered, from his own experience, that it was fairly deep inside, in the anterior position. When he found it, it was quite obvious, moreso outside than inside – it was just a subtle little bump against his fingertips, but touching it made Miller’s thighs shake. Snake concentrated on stroking it, getting a continuous pleasured reaction from Miller with just the lightest of touches, though an occasional firm poke resulted in some very exciting noises and jerks. He went on for several minutes; in that time, Miller neither begged to go forward with the fucking, nor did he seem to get used to the stimulation – it continued to affect him just as intensely as the minutes went by. Snake wished he hadn’t come so soon when Miller had done this to him; he wondered what it felt like to get prolonged treatment like this, because Miller was making it seem positively euphoric. 

“Okay,” Miller gasped, “I can see you learned your lesson about waiting to be asked. Now I’m asking you: put your cock in me. I want it.” 

It took Snake a moment to realize – Miller thought that Snake had been waiting for him to beg for it! He had been treating it like a test of wills, like Snake would be unwilling to relent until Miller told him what he wanted. In reality, Snake had just kept on doing what he’d been doing because it was fun and interesting. But now that he’d been asked, he remembered that his dick was throbbing-hard and aching, and putting it in Miller was going to be amazing. 

Snake pumped more lube into his hand, spreading it over his cock in one stroke, terrified of touching himself more than that and coming too fast. Holding himself just behind the head with thumb and forefinger, he spread his knees to lower himself so he could press his cock against Miller’s hole. That didn’t feel quite right, he thought he might lose his balance, so he tilted forward and braced himself on his free hand. That forced him to adjust the angle of his hips somewhat, and also shift his legs. Once he’d finally gotten himself positioned, what came next was clear to him, but he was shaking with nerves. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Miller reassured him. “Give it to me slow…but please give it to me.” 

That prompting was what he needed. Snake nudged the head of his cock past the still-resistant muscle, then kept pushing, sheathing himself in Miller’s body. Miller gripped him like a vise, but the slickness made it sweet for both of them. 

“_Good_,” Miller said, his instructor voice offset a little by his groaning. “You feel good. Take a breath, you’re fine.” 

Snake took several, then tried to withdraw a little. He didn’t want to leave the confines of Miller’s body, so he pushed back in almost immediately. The next stroke was a little longer, but he felt like there was too much friction. He grabbed the bottle and pumped more lube right onto the place where he and Miller were joined before pushing in again. 

“Excellent,” Miller said. “Good judgment. You can never go wrong by adding lube.” 

Miller’s praise – once so rare, and now coming in a veritable avalanche – helped Snake. It kept him from going into battle mode when the adrenaline rush came: dissociating enough to just push forward and get on with the job. He didn’t want to choose between being bold and staying in the moment. He was sure Miller understood this, and that was so important. 

“You can do it as fast as you like, but slow is good,” Miller said, “at least at first.” 

Snake nodded – at no one, Miller was not looking at him – and moved his hips slowly back and forth. He really didn’t want to leave Miller’s warmth. He ended up doing more of a circle motion, grinding against Miller rather than in and out. 

Miller did not hesitate to let Snake know that he liked this. “Fuck, that’s good,” he gasped. “I can really feel it in there.” He lifted his hips a little, to press himself more firmly against Snake’s pelvis, and then he shuddered all over. “_Right there_,” he gasped. Snake must have found the sweet spot. He tried to work with Miller, to find it again, and again. There was no mistaking when he hit it squarely; Miller whimpered and grunted helplessly with each strike. “Short strokes,” he said through clenched teeth. “Nice and steady.” 

He started to get loud, much more vocal than he had been when they’d been doing this the other way around. But hearing his gratified noises, Snake understood much better why Miller had asked _him_ to be loud, when he was the one being penetrated – it was very flattering to hear how strongly what he was doing was affecting Miller. Snake did his best to concentrate on pleasing him, on doing as he instructed. But as they both became more excited, Snake began to rock in and out more, to thrust properly. 

Thankfully, Miller did not object. “Good. Harder. You can do it hard and fast now, I’m ready.” 

Snake sped up a little – but only a little. 

“_Harder_,” Miller snapped. “Come on, put your back into it and give it to me!” 

Snake worked with all his might, and Miller shouted, “That’s hitting it, _yes_.” He continued lifting his hips to meet Snake’s thrusts, until finally he raised himself up enough to get his knees under him. “Now show your master some manners and give him a reach-around.” 

Having been forced upright by Miller’s body, both Snake’s hands were now free, and he clasped Miller’s cock with his right and pumped it in time with his thrusts, trying to figure out whether he would get better leverage bracing his left hand against Miller’s shoulders, which were still on the mattress, or whether he should try to put it back on the bed. Having just tripled his number of tasks, he lost his rhythm for a moment, but as soon as he had it back, Miller began to quake and yell, “Don’t stop, don’t fucking—_ah_!” Snake could feel Miller’s spunk shooting out of his cock as he squeezed it tight, could feel his hole rhythmically contracting. It was too much, and Snake found his completion moments later, buried deep inside Miller’s body, feeling every pulse as it left him, crying out with the most wonderful disbelief, so much unbearable tension finally broken by such ecstatic release. 

When Miller’s knees went out from under him, Snake followed, their bodies still joined. Neither of them were entirely comfortable, but movement took so much effort. As Snake became increasingly aware that he was a mess, he reached over and grabbed a second towel, which he unfurled next to Miller so that he could lie down beside him. 

Miller turned to face Snake, his head resting on his arm. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but his expression was so radiant, so filled with fondness, Snake’s heart ached. He had enjoyed the sight of Miller’s arching spine, the feel of his shaking thighs, but he’d missed seeing Miller’s face. He wished he could try everything over, this time face-to-face, maybe in the missionary position, if Miller was alright with it happening that way. “We should do this again,” he suggested. 

Miller chuckled. “That good, huh?” 

Snake grinned back at him, then settled into a sated dreaminess, watching as Miller closed his eyes. Now Snake could look at Miller all he wanted, without being self-conscious about being looked at himself. The hard lines etched into Miller’s face were softened now, and Snake wondered if that put him any closer to knowing what Miller had looked like when he was younger. It had frustrated Snake, ever since Miller had told him that no photos survived of him from before the mid-1970’s. Snake would loved to have seen the youthful version of this man, who had a funny, playful streak even now, and had probably flaunted his good looks and magnetism at every opportunity back in his prime, including mugging for every camera aimed at him. But Snake would never know. 

Without warning, Snake was jolted out of his reverie, when he began to perceive the sight before his eyes like it was a memory. It felt as though this quiet moment he and Master Miller were sharing, in this cozy room with its soft shadows, was already in the distant past, out of Snake’s reach forever, even though it was in actuality the present moment. 

Snake felt unsettled, and fought hard to return to his body, to live in this moment and enjoy it. Though he had not said anything to Master Miller about it, the past week or so, the pressure had been overwhelming to experience each moment as deeply and thoroughly as possible, because soon life would be getting back to normal, with cadets returning and missions being assigned. All Snake wanted to do was relax and enjoy himself, but he knew he had to hold on to everything with every fiber of his being, and from moment to moment fretted over whether he was retaining everything sufficiently to create the good memories that would get him through the hard times that were undoubtedly ahead. 

Snake decided to deal with his present anxiety the way he’d always dealt with it in the field: forcing himself to get out of his head by focusing on a task, any task. Although his body was relaxed and he was in no mood to get up, he rolled off the bed and went into the bathroom, washed up a little, then brought a clean, damp towel back to bed, and gently cleaned Miller with it. Miller was pliant and sated, and allowed Snake to run the wet cloth over his body, and thanked him when he was done. Snake reveled in the opportunity to care for his irascible and obstinate mentor. He even went so far as to lift Miller a little, tugging the dirty towel and pillow out from underneath him, and if not carry him into a proper sleeping position on the bed, at least nudge him into doing it himself. 

This was enough of a task to get his head back on straight, and allowed Snake to enjoy more completely the remaining afterglow. When he settled in beside Miller under the covers, Miller grabbed his arm and tugged it over himself as he rolled to face away, to get Snake to spoon him. “God, I feel so good right now,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna miss you when you’re gone.” 

Snake held Miller tightly, grit his teeth to keep from crying, and said nothing.


	14. Chapter 14

After the new year, the sleepy, snow-covered camp seemed to wake up again, as cadets returned from winter break and got back into their routines. Classes were finished, but the gym, the firing range, the library, and the obstacle courses were as busy as ever, as cadets refined their skills in preparation for their first missions.

Even though the camp’s population was a fraction of what it had been in the spring, before cadets began to wash out, Snake still felt like he was tripping over the crowds; he had very quickly gotten used to a nearly-empty camp, where he could disappear into Miller’s apartment and enjoy companionship and good food without his absence being noticed.

Almost as quickly as they returned to the camp, one by one cadets disappeared again, sequestered for briefing before shipping out on their missions. At first, Snake got anxious watching cadet after cadet get assigned while he remained at the camp, killing time in the gym and the library, reading books, studying Japanese. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, and mentioned his concern to the camp administrator, he was reassured: “Your briefing is coming. There’s a special mission, practically tailor-made for you, but the timing has to be right.”

Snake thanked him for the tip, relaxing for the first time in days, knowing that he wasn’t secretly incompetent all along. He only wished that he could be spending more time with Master Miller. They still did judo in the gym, and ate together in the mess hall, but it was too tricky to attempt any trysts now that there were so many more eyes in the camp and curfew had been reinstated.

When the day came that Snake was called in for his mission briefing, he was escorted to the administrator’s office, then through that room and into another one, tiny and windowless, where envelopes were unsealed, aerial photographs were displayed, and locations disclosed. Snake spent three full days getting up to speed on the mission: he got that crash course in jungle survival that Master Miller had promised way back on the first day of classes, as well as intel on anticipated enemy combatants, potential on-site procurement, and dangerous local wildlife. He began to feel like a real soldier again, not a student, not a _kid_. He could almost feel superfluous parts of his brain shutting off, the parts that longed for comfort and sensory pleasure and fun. And it didn’t feel sad or wrong to him at all; it felt normal.

At the end of the three days, he was told to report back at eight the following morning to ship out, and that in the meantime, his routine duties were discharged and he was exempt from curfew; everyone got one last hurrah before grim and thankless duty called.

Snake was elated. He could hardly wait to go visit Master Miller, though it also made him sad, to know that this would be his _last_ visit. He tried to look on the bright side: at least he _had_ this last night. He could have been put on a plane without a chance to say goodbye.  


***  


Miller had dinner ready when Snake arrived – penne pesto and chicken, simple but flavorful and hearty. “I’ve spoiled you,” Miller lamented. “You’re going to be pining for food like this when you’re on your mission. It’ll be agony to eat nothing but rations.”

Snake wanted to tell Miller that it wasn’t the food he would be missing, but after a moment’s hesitation, he decided that it didn’t need to be said. “I heard that some of the other cadets are headed for political infiltration missions in Europe.” Snake sighed, “Nothing but champagne wishes and caviar dreams for them.”

“Don’t think about it. You were never going to get assigned that fancy James Bond shit. You should never have let anyone know how good you are at crawling in the dirt.”

Snake pushed his food around on his plate with his fork. It was delicious, as always, but he didn’t have his usual appetite. “I wish I could tell you about my mission. I’d really like to have your advice.”

Miller didn’t answer for a long time. At last, he said, “I’ve taught you everything I can.” And then after another, brief pause: “I mean, there’s still some sex stuff, but I’m afraid there simply isn’t time, and I don’t think it would be relevant to the mission anyway.”

Snake laughed, but when he saw that Miller was only smirking sardonically, he stopped. It seemed to him that Miller was in a dark mood that evening. In fact, as the meal went on, Snake felt that he was acting very grim indeed. Snake had never seen him so; even when he was at his meanest, Snake would still have described him as “grumpy,” but not downright gloomy. _Is it because of me?_ he wondered. _Is he sad because I’m leaving?_ As tempting as it was, Snake hesitated to flatter himself by thinking that he meant that much to Miller.

Miller seemed so down, even when he took Snake into the bedroom, that Snake asked if he’d rather do something else, just watch a movie or something. Miller responded by pulling Snake into bed with him and tugging off his clothes. There was a desperation in the way he did it, a neediness so unlike the cool, confident authority with which he usually ran things in the bedroom. Snake did his best to help with the shedding of clothes, until they were huddled naked under the covers, limbs entwined.

“What are you going to teach me tonight?” he asked, but seriously, not playfully.

Miller shook his head. “No lesson tonight.”

That was fine with Snake. He was happy just be close to Master Miller, and downright thrilled to have Miller clinging to him, the way Snake had always been hesitant to cling for fear of embarrassing himself.

For all Miller’s desperation, however, there was no passion. His cock was soft against Snake’s hip, and his kisses stayed slow and closed-mouth. Snake felt like he was being handled too energetically for this to be cuddling, but what they were doing seemed to lack the direction and determination of sex. The tentative tenderness made it feel more like their first time than their last time. But Snake loved it, loved the softness of it – it meant so much because it was so hard-won. Being soft did not come naturally to Miller – or if it did, he had long ago buried that softness under so much bitterness and wrath.

Snake decided to indulge in something he hadn’t dared try before: he tugged Miller’s hair from its ponytail, so that it could fall freely over his back and shoulders. He ran his hands through it, which earned him a few pleased sounds, especially with his fingertips across Miller’s scalp. Miller looked softer still, now, less severe, less angular. Snake wished he’d thought to untie his hair earlier.

As relaxed and tender as everything was, however, Snake’s dick was rock-hard. Miller had no one to blame but himself for that – Snake’s body had learned that being in this room, in this bed, meant getting some novel and intense attention, a powerful cocktail of intimacies that had made it difficult to separate emotional openness from sexual pleasure. As their hands were occupied with the things they desired above the waist, Snake had only the smooth skin of Miller’s hip and thigh to soothe his aching erection, but eventually, he had to admit that his frotting was not really easing him at all, but agitating him further.

“Master Miller,” he said, fidgeting while Miller was trying to hold him, “I’m sorry, but I really need to come.”

“Of course,” Miller said softly. He turned away briefly, just long enough to grab a little towel from the bedside table. He put it between their bodies, to catch the mess, and began to stroke Snake’s cock, steady and not too fast, not as fast as Snake would have liked, drawing out the almost-coming feeling.

Snake remembered what Miller had said a few nights ago, about handjobs seeming corny compared to other kinds of sex, and Snake might have been inclined to agree at the time. But he did not feel that way now; this wasn’t corny, it was crushingly sentimental. On this last night together, the mixture of frustration and excitement destroyed his inhibitions. “Can I tell you something?” he gasped between labored breaths. “I don’t want to go. I know it’s what I’ve trained my whole life to do, but now I just want to stay here with you.”

Miller nuzzled Snake’s ear and squeezed his cock. “I know, sweetheart. I don’t want you to go either.”

Snake was stunned to hear this. He forgot himself completely as he confessed, “I’m scared to go. I’m so—_ohh_.” Snake shook as he ejaculated into the towel, with Miller dropping kisses on his forehead. When he finished, Miller cast the damp towel aside, then returned to cuddling Snake hard, still holding him so tightly that it was almost alarming. But Snake was much more pliant and hazy now, and relaxed into it. “What about you?” he murmured. “What can I do for you?”

“Just let me hold you. Right now I need you just like this.”

Snake nodded, and wrapped his arms around Miller, strengthening their embrace. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he was so tired, and coming had felt so good, even if he had said some stupid things.

***  


It was still dark when Snake woke up. He looked at the glowing numbers on the clock by the bed; they read “3:30.” He hoped that he could cuddle with a sleeping Master Miller for a little while, but Miller lifted his head, fully awake, just at the moment that Snake blearily deciphered the numbers on the clock.

“I hope I didn’t wake you up,” Snake said.

Miller let his head fall back on the pillow. “Nah, I’ve been awake.”

“All night? You didn’t sleep at all?”

Miller was dispassionate. “Sometimes I don’t sleep.”

Snake felt bad about this – he’d hoped that Miller had been feeling better lately, less troubled, like he himself had been, and was disappointed to learn that this was not true. He knew that fixing insomnia was not as easy as that. He struggled with it himself sometimes, and understood how frustrating it could be. “You could have gotten up and watched TV or something,” he said.

Miller made a dismissive noise. “It was fine to lie here next to you.”

“Oh.” Snake was at least happy that he could be a comfort, if not a cure. But more than anything else, he wished that the two of them could just sleep contentedly together every night, their dreams untroubled.

“Is there anything I can do?” he said drowsily, ready to fall right back asleep if the answer was no – and it tended to be, whenever he offered Miller help.

But then Miller said, “Actually, could you…could you do the thing you did the first night we were together? When you touched my arm?”

Snake snapped to wakefulness immediately, his heart skipping a beat at the request; it was the first time that Master Miller had asked him for something just for himself, rather than treating every encounter like a lesson or an assignment. He sat up, kneeling at Miller’s side, and surveyed him as best he could. It was the first time they’d done anything together in near-darkness. Every time they’d had sex, Miller had left the dim lamp switched on, which Snake liked because he got to look at Miller’s body, and for the most part he didn’t mind being looked at himself. But now, with just the floodlights from the camp seeping through the slit in the curtains, only faint shapes and shadows were discernible. Miller was looking up at the ceiling; perhaps keeping Snake’s movements just in his peripheral vision, without being able to see his own body.

Snake took a deep breath, and began with Miller’s hand, since that had worked last time. “Hold out your palm, so I can stroke it. I promise I won’t tickle you.” Miller did not visibly move, but Snake went so far as to shift, as if making room for his arm. His spread fingers hovered over the empty sheets, and he murmured, “I’m lacing my fingers through yours, so I can squeeze your hand. Is it okay if we just hold hands for a while?”

Miller nodded.

Snake flexed his fingers, moving his upper arm probably more than was necessary, so Miller could see it in his periphery, to hopefully add to the effect for him. “I wish we could do this in public. I wish we could be together.”

“Okay, come on now,” Miller growled, “stop talking like that, you’re gonna make me sad.”

“I wonder what it would be like to have a normal life. Just being civilians, not having to think about killing people all the time.”

“Stop it.”

“Sorry.” Snake continued his narration, this time without wishful commentary. He described how his fingers were skimming over the tender flesh of Miller’s inner arm, how he was squeezing all his muscles. After a while, he ran out of ideas, but Miller still seemed so genuinely affected, and Snake didn’t want to stop, so he said, “I’m being kind of selfish, just touching you all I want. Would you like to touch something?”

Miller inhaled sharply, turning his head to face Snake, but with his eyes closed. “Your cock,” he said. “You’ve got a really nice one.” Snake scooted a little closer, accommodating the reach of Miller’s phantom arm. Miller’s shoulder and stump twitched, and he said, “It feels good in my hand: hard, but soft. Silky and hot. I can feel it. I can feel it.” He bit his lip. Snake was frozen in fascination. He had no complaint about not actually being touched at all; Miller’s expression and his words were riveting. Snake could see him better now, since his eyes had begun adjusting to the dark. Miller’s shoulder began to twitch. “Your foreskin is so delicate,” he whispered. “I like pushing it back and seeing how much darker the head is.”

Snake noticed that Miller’s left hand was also moving now, under the covers; he was touching himself. The sight of it was breathtaking. Once again, Snake was struck by a new, novel form of intimacy. He wished he could turn a light on and see it more clearly, but at the same time, there was something sweeter about the darkness.

“Your cock is so beautiful,” Miller whispered. “I want to touch you all over, but that’s all I can reach right now. But it’s fine. Later I’ll touch all of you, pay attention to every inch of you, but for now, I’m just going to jerk us both off. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” Snake said, “please do it.” He looked at Miller’s hand a little bit, but was more inclined to watch his face. He loved seeing Miller lost in pleasure. Snake hadn’t gotten to see his face nearly enough when he was just enjoying himself, and tried not to feel too regretful in this moment, that he might not ever see it again.

Miller pushed the covers away before finishing himself off, shooting across his belly, his hips twitching, his mouth open in a silent cry.

Snake reached over Miller for the discarded towel to clean him up with. Then he leaned forward for a kiss, but as he did he found that Miller had begun to shudder again – not in the rhythmic way he did just before orgasm; more like he was in distress. Snake watched in shock as Miller’s chest heaved in a great sob. He was crying – gritting his teeth against it, fighting it, but unable to overcome it. Snake touched Miller’s face, catching tears with his fingertips. Miller grabbed his hand, pressed his face more firmly against it, and began to weep openly, loudly.

Snake unfolded his legs so he could lie down next to Miller, hold him, and tell him that it was okay. But just when he opened his mouth, Miller grabbed the back of his head, brutally clutching a fistful of his hair, and pulled him closer still, close enough to whisper in his ear, “If you ever – _ever _– utter a word of this to anyone, no one will ever find a single piece of you.”

Snake’s stomach lurched. After everything they’d said and done together, did Miller still think that threats were in order to secure his silence? “No, I would never. I don’t want to do anything to—” He nearly said _spoil what we have_, but thought better of such sentiment. He finished lamely, “…to make you look bad.”

Slowly, Miller loosened his grip, and his hand slipped down Snake’s shoulder and arm, becoming a caress. He seemed to regain his sensibility, and said, apologetically, “No, no of course you wouldn’t. You’re a good kid.” He encouraged Snake to relax against him again, to cuddle with him properly. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were a good person. Not everyone here is good. There are some downright rat bastards in FOXHOUND, and I would know, because I’m one of them.” Just as Snake had begun to relax, Miller tensed up again. “But I’m not the worst.” He clenched his fist. Snake had no idea what was going on, but he dared not move or speak, until Miller pulled away, then cupped Snake’s face in his hand. He could see Miller’s eyes ablaze, even in the near-darkness.

“Listen to me.” Snake was wide-eyed: Miller’s tone had never been so grave and urgent. “Snake. He is the sun, and you’ve never known it, but you’ve been standing in the shadow that I cast. I’ve put myself between you and him. When you see him, it will mean I’m not there to protect you from him anymore. He saw me fight even when I knew I couldn’t win. I thought that made me noble in his eyes, but now I think maybe he just found it entertaining…and I’m afraid he’ll do the same to you.”

Snake shook his head in confusion. “What are you talking about?” He propped himself up on one elbow. “Master Miller, do you know what my mission is? Do you know what I’m being sent to do?”

Miller’s gaze travelled down Snake’s body, and then he rolled onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. “When I agreed to…to do all this with you, it wasn’t entirely altruistic. You reminded of me of someone, someone I never got over. I thought I could teach you to…”

Snake waited several seconds to suggest, “To be like him?”

“No. God, no.” Miller reached over with his left hand, wiggling his fingers until Snake took it and held it. “I wanted the opposite of him. I loved him like I never loved anyone, but I was just so _tired_ of what he was. I saw your devotion, I saw it in the way you looked at me on the first day of training, and it reminded me of the devotion I felt for him, before he broke my heart. Every day I had to swallow down everything I felt when I looked at you, because all I could think about was how I wanted to use you to get revenge on him.” Snake’s mouth fell open, but Miller squeezed his hand. “Because there is no cruelty I could inflict on _him_ that he could not absorb. There’s no use trying. But I thought, maybe teaching you kindness would anger him more. Well, I admit that mostly I was teaching you to fuck me the way I liked, to please me like he never could.”

Snake ignored that last, mumbled sentence. “Is this the man you were talking about that night in the Jacuzzi? You said he died.”_ I knew it_, he thought. _I knew you were lying_.

“Oh, he’s around,” Miller admitted with a sigh. “And I knew he would find out about us. I just got caught up in my bitterness towards him…and that means he won again. I’m sorry for what I did, it was stupid and wrong. You are your own person. You don’t deserve to be manipulated. I guess I thought it was acceptable because I knew that you were stuck in this godforsaken life of war and misery just like I am. I looked at you and all I could see in your future was either an early death or a sad, crippled collapse into middle age like I’ve been cursed with. But it wasn’t fair of me to treat you like your life isn’t your own. Of _all_ people, I never should have treated _you _like that.”

Miller’s body relaxed and sank against the mattress, and he was quiet, waiting for Snake to respond. He seemed to be expecting Snake to be indignant, to march right out of the room in a rage. But Snake was not angry at all. Surprised, perhaps – Miller could always surprise him, one way or another. He could not, however, bring himself to see what Miller had done as manipulation. Snake knew better. His intuition was sharp, and while Miller was no saint, Snake knew that he was also not the deceitful monster he was making himself out to be.

“I don’t think you have anything to be sorry for,” Snake said. “You just wanted to be gentle and have a little fun, right?”

Miller sniffled, and nodded.

“I’m so happy I got to give you that.” As soon as Snake said it, he cringed at how empty it sounded, like _he_ had been doing _Miller_ a favor all this time. But how could he articulate the full extent of his gratitude? How could he put into words that the way Miller had cared for him – gruff, cruel Hell Master Miller – was the greatest kindness he’d ever known? Miller’s depth of understanding of his inner life was more valuable than insipid politeness. On the training grounds, he could push Snake to his absolute limits, but here, in this room, he could pinpoint exactly where Snake was most comfortable and indulge him there endlessly. Every word he spoke was a secret shared. His perceptive gaze was so full of sadness, but his expression so beatific when his eyes closed in ecstasy. Who else could look into Snake’s soul, speak his truth, love him with such fervor?

Snake’s hand clenched the bedsheets; he wanted to say all of this and more, but he didn’t know how. So he reassured Miller as best he could with the few words that he could gather up: “You told me yourself, at the beginning: I was making my own decision. I don’t regret that in the least. I came into this with open eyes.”

“No.” Now Miller was shaking his head. “You couldn’t. You had no idea. Listen, I’ve known a lot of soldiers in my time. Men and women of all ages from all over the world. I’ve learned every reason why anyone could possibly want to live this life. I’ve witnessed devotion that ordinary people would find unimaginable. I’ve felt it, and been the object of it myself. And by that, I don’t mean to make you feel like you’re not special. That’s the problem – you _are_. Despite all of that, I’ve never met anyone like you. I have never met anyone who had your skill and tirelessness and who understood this life inside and out but who remained so _uncorrupted_. For the last six months, a part of me wanted to tell you to get out of FOXHOUND before it rotted your soul, but I knew I couldn’t, I knew I shouldn’t even bother to try, because it’s already too late for you. It’s too late for you to be a civilian, to live a normal life, to die a normal death. And as sad as that is, what’s sadder is that I know that _you_ know that too, and you’ve already accepted it. Plenty of other soldiers, I would say to them, it’s not too late to start over. But you...you’re going to end up like me. Too smart and too skilled to die, but destined for every other kind of destruction that one can endure and still go on living.”

Miller let go of Snake’s hand, and stroked his hair, looking into his eyes. “Snake…when they took my arm and my leg, they didn’t take them all at once. And whatever this life takes from you, it won’t take it all at once. I’m scared for you, not because I doubt your abilities, but because of what I know you still feel in your heart. I understand what it’s like to desire nothing but the approval of one man. But I’m going to tell you something now that it took me thirty years to learn: no one’s gonna save you but you.”

Snake knew that Miller was right, about everything. He knew he was already too messed up to ever be a civilian, working in an office and buying groceries and mowing the lawn. And he would have been okay with that, more than okay, if he could have Miller with him, to be his guide and companion in this life he was resigned to. Instead, he would have only the wisdom Miller had given him in these few short months. So Snake asked for just a little more of it: “What would you have me do?” he asked. “How do I save myself?”

“Find joy and happiness where you can,” Miller said softly. “I know you said you don’t like people, but when this place is just a distant memory, be careful about pushing people away. It’s fine if you like to be alone, but when you’re old, it’s not fun to be lonely.”

Snake’s chest felt tight. He looked at the deep lines in Miller’s face. “I’d do anything to make sure you were never lonely again.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Miller put his arm around Snake, pulled him close, and kissed his forehead. “Stop it, you’re gonna make me cry again…and I’m an _ugly_ crier. My vanity can’t take it, have mercy on me.”

***  


Snake had set his watch for seven, so that he would have time to get ready before it was time to report in. Seven was hardly “early” as far as he was concerned, although the Alaskan winter made everything feel earlier than it was in the morning, because it was dark until ten. At 6:55, Snake was awake. He shut off his watch alarm before it could beep and disturb Master Miller.

He wanted very badly to hear Miller’s voice one last time, to have a hug and a proper goodbye, but he knew that to have to pull himself from Miller’s arms, from his affectionate gaze, would be too painful. Instead, Snake rose silently from the bed, checking to make sure Miller did not wake. He gathered up his clothes, but decided to dress out in the front room, to reduce the chances of Miller being disturbed by the shuffling. He took a final look back; the sliver of floodlight coming in from outside illuminated Miller’s face, his sprawled form, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Snake turned and left the room.

As he dressed, he considered the possibility that Miller was not actually asleep, but had only pretended because he too feared the pain of saying goodbye. The idea that Miller was awake almost made Snake reconsider, but he couldn’t bear taking the chance – if Miller was really asleep, he should sleep. Snake could not willingly deprive him of one moment of tranquility.

Snake dressed, but before putting on his boots, stepped silently over to the couch, above which hung the three Kuniyoshi drawings. With new eyes, with the scraps of knowledge he had collected, Snake looked at them very carefully, until he saw Miller in them, first in the drawing of the samurai who was pierced with several arrows but fending off many more, and then in the one who was drowning, and finally in the samurai locked in combat with the warrior priest. Though he still knew very little, Snake had an idea now, that the warrior priest was probably meant to be the man who had given these to Miller. _What a cruel gift_, he thought.

Snake put on his boots, and slipped out the door. But it hurt so badly to leave without saying goodbye. Once on the other side, a force seemed to be pulling him back, and he turned around and put his hand on the door. _Whatever they do take from me,_ he thought, _they can’t take what happened here. I’ll have this until the day I die, however soon that may be. They can’t take away the memory of your breath on my skin, your voice, your scent, the way you taste, how you shivered when you were inside me. All of that is locked up in my heart, and no one can touch it. And I’ll never forget what you taught me. The way I face adversity, the way I use my body from now on, it’s because of your instruction. I promise I’ll make you proud doing it…even if you’ll never be there again to tell me so._

***

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a little behind-the-scenes blurb on Tumblr about this fic; if you are interested you can read it here: https://berlynn-wohl.tumblr.com/post/187782978928/


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